


100 Different Moments of Me and You

by Kitty_Redheart



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Romance, Stupid boyfriends, ZoSan - Freeform, maybe some smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-05-02 23:27:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 51,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5267852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitty_Redheart/pseuds/Kitty_Redheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>100 different prompts, ideas, and drabbles that range in length for my OTP Zosan. Some may be canon, some may be diverging, and some may be AUs. Some they may be together and some they may not. All in all, its just the little things that make me want to write about the shitty marimo and the ero-cook.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Innocently Uttered

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so hello AO3 community. I have finally posted something yayyyyy. Anyway, I love Zosan to bits and pieces so let's see how this'll go. Anyway have fun, hopefully they aren't too OOC. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I'm just saying I can't draw for shit otherwise I'd have made some fanart and been happy with my life. but as you can see, that's not true and if I can't draw I most definitely do not own One Piece. Boo.

 

The sky was roaring, cumulonimbus clouds stretched past the horizon. The sea tumbled without the usual ferocity of storms on the Grand Line as the rain fell in sheets. It was a miserable day and Nami had been working continuously for five hours to keep the Going Merry on course for the next island. Nami sighed and ran her hand through her silky locks. She was done. Nami pushed herself away from the desk she and hauled herself up. She needed company.

Nami pulled a yellow poncho over her head and slipped her feet into black rubber rain boots before marching out the door onto the deck. She hurried through the pouring rain and headed toward the light streaming through the portholes of the galley. As she ascended the stairs, she heard the raucous laughter that could only mean Luffy and Usopp were already in there with Sanji. She smiled as she heard Chopper’s voice through the door and Zoro’s obnoxious snoring.

Nami entered and discarded her rain-gear and left them by the door. Her suspicions were correct; Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper were playing a bizarre board game, Sanji was making something that smelled out of this world, and Zoro was sleeping in a chair far enough away so he would not be disturbed. Robin was also accounted for, sitting beside Zoro and reading a large leather bound book with a small smile on her docile features.

“Luffy! Stop cheating! The Great Captain Usopp knows a liar when he sees one!” Usopp shouted accusingly as Nami sat down across from Robin. Luffy looked away and shrugged.

“I’m not cheating, Usopp! Chopper, I wasn’t cheating was I?” Luffy asked with a wink to the little doctor. Chopper looked up from the board and winked back.

“Nope, I didn’t see anything,” he said and refused to meet the sniper’s glare. Usopp flung his hands in the air.

“I know you’re cheating because I’m too good at this game, but at least do it well! I defeated four thousand cheaters in twenty minutes, so you two. Will. Have. To. Try. Better!” Usopp exclaimed slamming pieces of the game around until he sat back with a smug grin and Luffy and Chopper looked at the board in amazement.

“Usopp you’re so cool!” Chopper said in wonder. The sniper laughed in triumph as Luffy glared at him.

“Rematch!”

“Hold on, shitheads. Eat your food before you ruin your game!” Sanji called as he walked over to the table carrying two trays on one arm. He glided over to Nami and Robin, placing a mug that smelled like cinnamon and caramel with whipped cream in a perfect spiraling tower in front of each of them; additionally, he placed a plate of pumpkin macaroons with a touch of orange juice mixed in from her homegrown oranges and a plate of dark chocolate macaroons filled with chocolate mousse. He served Luffy and Usopp the same type of drink and macaroons varying in flavor from Nami’s and Robin’s to strawberry and banana cream. Sanji leaned over to place a mug in front of Chopper.

“Careful now, doc. It’s hot,” Sanji said before placing milk chocolate macaroons with cream filling in front of the reindeer. Sanji then walked over to Zoro and placed the remaining mug, filled with black coffee with a hint of cinnamon, and a plate of apple cinnamon macaroons before the snoring swordsman. Sanji moved around the other side of the table and tapped, more forcefully than needed, Zoro on the head with the trays, before walking back and putting the dirty dishes in the sink.

Zoro glared daggers at the cook’s back before shoving a macaroon in his mouth and restraining the content sound. Sanji knew he hated sweet food, especially chocolate, and whenever Zoro expected to taste sugary disgusting mush, he was pleasantly met with other flavors hiding the sweetness. His tongue was ruined. Zoro would eat food from the bars he went to at port and his nose would scrunch in disgust at the texture or the blandness. Nothing rivaled Sanji’s cooking. But he would never say that.

“Sanji! Play with us! Usopp and Chopper are ganging up on me!” Luffy begged as Sanji sat down next to Nami. Sanji rolled his eyes but agreed none the less. Then the game began again. The four bantered and fought over cheating, rules, and loopholes until Sanji won three times in a row. Usopp had resorted to underhanded tricks, Luffy had tried to steal food while the players were engrossed in their activity, and Chopper sat happily content to just laugh at his nakama’s antics.

“Zoro! You’re our last hope for victory! C’mon, play with us!” Usopp whined, eyes teary and lips downturned. Zoro thought about it; he had napped for about three hours and already trained enough for the day. He shrugged.

“Ah, ta hell with it, why not? I could play for a round or two,” Zoro yawned and switched places with Robin. Sanji smirked, competitive glint in his eyes shining.

“I bet 200 belli that Sanji-kun wins,” Nami whispered to Robin. Robin glanced between Zoro and Sanji quickly before smiling softly back.

“Alright, Navigator-san. I’ll say neither wins this game, but Zoro suffers more,” Robin said. Nami raised an eyebrow but nodded her head. She had a bad feeling that she just lost easy money. Whatever, she could just increase Zoro’s debt. The two sat back to watch the scene develop and sipped their drinks.

“Yosh! Zoro you’ve heard the rules let’s play!” Usopp announced before slamming his piece down in the middle of the board. Luffy laughed and played his turn, then Chopper, Sanji, and finally Zoro. They continued in that order, small arguments and laughter soon filled the galley. Sanji and Zoro were leading by the end, and Sanji pushed his piece forward with a smug grin.

“I’m about to kick your shitty marimo ass,” he grinned like a cat and leaned back in his chair, hands folded behind his head, cigarette dangling from his thin lips. Zoro put his piece next to Sanji’s before he looked the cook directly in the eye.

“I’d rather eat yours,” Zoro said with no hesitation. Before Zoro realized what he had actually said, Sanji’s face had paled, smile falling like the rain outside, before bursting into a blush so fierce his ears turned pink. Sanji was embarrassed and livid at the shitty swordsman and himself for _being_ embarrassed.

Nami gaped, breathy laughs escaped her as she stared wide-eyed at the two. She never knew they were like _that_. She made a mental note to add Sanji-kun to Zoro’s weakness list. She smiled, cheeks flaming from second-hand embarrassment, as she pictured the future times she would badger Sanji-kun about their relationship and how his ears would turn red like they were now.

Luffy laughed wholeheartedly. He didn’t get the meaning, but he understood it meant something to Sanji. He loved seeing Sanji and Zoro spar and banter, it was hilarious. But when they both thought no one was watching, Luffy had caught the subtle glances, smiles, and touches. He had even witnessed from an awkward angle a very close confrontation where Sanji had leaned on the galley table, bent down, and placed his head directly in front of Zoro’s. Zoro had been sitting polishing his swords and he tilted his head a bit, earrings chiming softly. Luffy couldn’t see their faces because of the angle, but he didn’t hear any yelling so he dismissed it and returned to chasing after Usopp.

Robin chuckled, she had seen more than she had needed to in the past couple months to infer that the cook and the swordsman’s relationship had advanced past the sexual tension that had practically rolled off the two. She sipped her coffee and returned to her book. She must ask Sanji to add cinnamon to more of her drinks.

Usopp started laughing, thinking it was an awesome comeback at first. Then when he looked towards Sanji, expecting him to lash out another insult like he normally did, Usopp stopped grinning. His mouth opened and closed like a fish before his face blossomed into red. His mind was spinning with thoughts along the lines of ‘When? How? What? NO! _Them_?’ He looked down at the table and his hands twitched with a need to do something, anything to get him away before all hell broke loose.

Chopper blinked and looked around confused. He didn’t understand what that entailed. Zoro eating what? More of Sanji’s food? But he’d already had dinner and he wasn’t a bottomless pit like Luffy. Then it dawned on him as he started thinking back on situations that he had read about in his medical books. He remembered a certain section of a book on human anatomy and reproduction that included homosexual intercourse. Chopper pushed himself away from the table, eyes popping out of his sockets and hat and antlers hopping into the air in shock. He shook his head, images from the book resurfacing with faces that now resembled Sanji and Zoro. He gasped.

“That’s why my salves had been deteriorating faster than normal!” Chopper exclaimed. Nami sputtered and tried to hold in her laughter. She failed and burst out laughing. Sanji looked like he wanted to melt into the floor, but he instead got up, flipped Zoro the bird, and marched outside with his hands buried in his pockets. The door slammed behind him and Zoro sighed.

He hadn’t even thought about what that implied. He hadn’t been thinking of what that revealed about their relationship. He just blurted it out because, yeah, sex with Sanji was always interesting and never disappointing. Of course Zoro had never “eaten” him before, but he had been wanting to see what it did to the cook because Zoro had heard it felt really good. He rubbed a hand across his face, ignoring the leers from his crewmates as he stood to follow after Sanji.

* * *

The next day, the sun was shining once again and the crew was back outside. Robin emerged from below deck, carrying another book, intent on reading and relaxing for the afternoon. Robin, however, passed by Zoro who was sitting, for once, not asleep by the galley door. He looked irritated, his brow furrowed and jaw clenched. Robin stopped walking and surveyed the swordsman. Nothing was out of the ordinary until she caught the shoe imprints on his arms and by his collarbone, at which she raised a delicate brow.

“Swordsman-san, what is upsetting you?” Robin asked as she approached Zoro. He glared at her and blew air out his nose like an angry dragon ready to spew fire. “Three weeks,” he grit out. Robin urged him to explain more but he glared at the floor. If he was that intent on staying silent then she wouldn’t pry. She turned away from him.

“He’s cutting me off for three weeks because of last night,” Zoro practically hissed the words out and Robin felt the frustration emanating from him. Ah, she understood.

“You should be grateful, Swordsman-san. He could have said no physical contact at all,” Robin said, smile playing on her lips. She took a few steps away but placed an eye on the railing. Even if the cook had banned sex, which apparently he had, Zoro would probably be fine with her little loophole.

Robin sat down to read her book, waiting for the cook to emerge from the galley. When he did, she not only saw the swordsman capture him in his arms and pin him against him, but also the way that when he kissed the baffled cook it held more than lust. She dispelled the eye to allow the lovebirds some privacy; however, she soon heard the indignant squawks from Sanji and Zoro’s irritated baritone ringing in the air.

Robin chuckled and returned to her book.


	2. A Kiss for Your Troubles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving! Hopefully I'll post something again soon.

“Alright, Sanji. Your cheek’s all stitched up. You might experience a numb sensation within the next couple hours. If something feels funny or you need pain killers, just come back to the med bay, okay?” Chopper said as he hopped off his stool.

“Okay, okay. Chopper, I’ll be fine,” Sanji held up his hands in surrender. Sanji could feel a dull throb below his cheekbone but thought nothing of it. The side of his nose and his lips were, however, successfully unable to feel anything. Sanji departed from the med bay and towards the galley while chewing on his bottom lip. The flesh felt foreign and lumpy; it was weird.

Before Sanji had reached the galley, a large hand had grabbed his shoulder and had forced him to turn around. Sanji’s visible eye met Zoro’s dark green irises. Sanji loved and hated Zoro’s eyes. He hated the dark shadow they contained in battle, nothing but a shell and a cold-blooded killing machine; however, Sanji loved moments where he would look into Zoro’s usually cold and distant eyes and he would find specks of gold shimmering in the murky green pools.

But right now, Zoro’s eyes were pinned on the bandage under Sanji’s visible eye. His mouth stretched into a thin line, and Sanji scrunched his nose in distaste. Zoro’s grip on Sanji’s shoulder tightened before his other hand came up and brushed his fingers under Sanji’s jaw. His hand trailed upward, leaving warm scratchy trails in their wake. Zoro’s palm flattened against Sanji’s cheek, thumb brushing over the upper corner of the adhesive. Sanji unconsciously leaned into the touch.

Images had been replaying in Zoro’s mind’s eye for hours. He saw the battle between the Strawhats and the marines. He saw the sniper take aim at Sanji’s head as the man continued to take down enemy after enemy. He heard the shot fire. He saw Sanji’s head twist to the side, face unable to be seen, and blood splatter in the air. He remembered thinking that Sanji had lost his eye as the man crumpled to the ground. Zoro didn’t remember the rest of the fight.

“You don’t usually let your guard down like that,” Zoro whispered. He didn’t know why his voice came out hushed, but the atmosphere felt heavy. Sanji attempted to frown but his lips wouldn’t cooperate entirely.

“Shaddup, shitty swordsman. Usopp should’ve taken him out by then, and you get grazed by bullets all the time, idiot,” Sanji grumbled. Zoro sighed through his nose and rolled his eyes.

“Dumbass cook,” he said before he leaned in and pressed his lips against Sanji’s. Sanji pushed back but was slightly annoyed he couldn’t feel the other man’s lips. He felt the pressure, but nothing else. Sanji pulled back with a slight pout, and Zoro’s eyebrow arched in question.

“Lips’re numb still. Chopper wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Sanji said. His reluctance showed when he pulled himself away from the other and moved towards the galley once more.

Sanji had been cooking turkey chili for lunch for almost a half an hour, and his lips were still numb. He fended off Luffy’s grabby hands and made fruity drinks for the girls, but he was still unhappy with his lack of feeling.

Zoro entered the galley, smelling of salt water and sweat, coming in after training. Sanji had already made him a green smoothie, high in protein and herbs for repairing muscle faster, and Zoro gulped it down greedily. He glanced over at the cook as he stirred the large pots on the stove top. Zoro walked over and wrapped an arm around Sanji’s waist.

“Feeling better?” Zoro asked.

“Still numb, but okay,” Sanji said.

“Well, yer face’s always been messed up,” Zoro said.

“At least my hair isn’t a permanent lawn,” Sanji replied, turning his head so he could see Zoro out of his peripheral. Zoro leaned closer and pressed a chaste kiss to Sanji’s lips, tasting spices and tomato sauce. Sanji frowned at not feeling anything again and turned back to his pots; hopefully, he had hidden his displeasure behind his curtain of bangs. Zoro snickered and turned to leave.

After lunch and the usual rambunctious antics, Zoro was washing dishes while Sanji dried them. Handing, Sanji another spotless dish, Zoro once again claimed Snaji’s mouth in an innocent kiss. Sanji’s nose twitched angrily. So, they were still numb. What had Chopper given him?

Zoro continued to give Sanji quick kisses as they cleaned up after the havoc of lunch; each time, however, Sanji felt more frustrated. God damn good medicine!

As the day continued, Zoro found many excuses to bestow kisses upon his lover: as they passed by each other, when he went into the galley for glasses of water (five different times), when Sanji gave him his afternoon snack, when he surprised Sanji as he tended to Nami’s mikan trees, and when Sanji left the comforts of his galley for a smoke. Zoro was content to enjoy the chaste romantic expressions and watch Sanji get more irritated each time he couldn’t experience the familiar sensation.

Sanji had had enough. He was done with Zoro’s shit. The bastard almost never kissed him outside of their explicit activities and even then the occasion was rare. Sanji was stewing over his misfortune, chopping carrots and peppers angrily. Kissing was something Sanji enjoyed. It meant Zoro was letting down his guard and setting aside his pride. It was also one of the few actions that reassured Sanji that he wasn’t the only one in love.

“Fucking medicine, I hate this shit,” Sanji growled chewing on his bottom lip harshly. He hissed when he felt a stingy pain and lifted a hand to his mouth. Sanji blinked when he realized he could feel the pads of his fingers against his lips. Oh, he was gonna milk all the kisses he could from Zoro now, the fucking bastard.

Sanji, put the vegetables in the fridge and wiped his hands on a clean towel. He marched out the door and headed towards the back of the ship. He took out his cigarette box and lighter, acting like he was innocently going out for a smoke break.

 Just as predicted, Zoro practically jumped in front of him, wrapping his arms around Sanji’s waist and pressing the blond against as much of his body as possible. Zoro grinned, before pushing his mouth against the cook’s. Intent on a simple kiss, Zoro started to pull away, but Sanji had other plans in mind.

Sanji grabbed Zoro’s haramaki and twisted them around before pinning Zoro against a wall. Sanji looked at Zoro’s surprised face before reestablishing the contact from before. He ran his hands up Zoro’s arms, still wrapped around his waist, over his shoulders, and along the corded muscles of his neck. Sanji gripped Zoro’s jaw firmly while he slanted his lips over Zoro’s. The pressure and slight friction made his body relax instantly. Zoro’s lips weren’t soft like any of the girls Sanji had kissed before. No, they were chapped from the winds and solid like the rest of his body. Sanji loved to kiss Zoro.

Zoro complied with the assault, going along with Sanji’s rhythm and alternating rubbing circles into Sanji’s lower back and squeezing his hipbones. Sanji sighed at the contact, opening his mouth enough for Zoro to sneak his tongue inside. The innocent ebb and flow of the kiss bled into a more heated battle of tongues, both men unwilling to submit to the other. Zoro nipped at Sanji’s bottom lip, dragging it into his mouth and sucking on it. Sanji shuddered at the sensation before coaxing Zoro’s tongue out to play once more.

The seconds ticked by and they remained glued to each other. Sanji suckled on Zoro’s tongue before pressing his lips one last time against Zoro’s. They broke apart slightly winded. Zoro rested his chin on Sanji’s shoulder and sighed out his nose.

“So, I guess they ain’t numb anymore, hm?” Zoro chuckled. Sanji grinned and laughed as well.

“Do you even understand how annoying you were today, shitty swordsman?” Sanji said.

“If your ugly face was anything to go by, I’d say very,” Zoro said. They stayed like that for a moment, settling into a comfortable silence.

“Hey, mosshead,” Sanji said, voice lacking any venom. Zoro hummed in question.

“Kiss me again.”


	3. Sentimental

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the new Chapter Three! It's kinda the same basis, but I hope I wrote it better this time. I don't think I wrote it right last time and it's been bugging me FOREVER. So here.

“Luffy, I swear on my life that I will cut you and Usopp into bits if you don’t stop pelting me with Nami’s fucking rotten oranges!” Zoro growled. Luffy and Usopp ran cackling to the other side of the ship. Nami glared over the top of her newspaper.

“Don’t talk about my oranges like that unless you want a twenty percent increase in your interest rate,” Nami said sweetly. Robin chuckled lightly. Zoro turned his glare towards the two women sitting peacefully on lounge chairs.

“You’re a real witch, you know that? Robin, don’t try to act like you’re not laughing!” Zoro said.

“Zoro! What did I tell you about taking your bandages off?” Chopper yelled shrilly as he launched himself at the swordsman with a first aid kit.

“Woah! Chopper calm down. I’m fine,” Zoro said. Sanji practically bit through his cigarette filter. He had had _enough_. Every day was like this. Sanji would watch from his spot as he leaned on the railing as the shitty swordsman interacted with every one of their nakama, and every day Sanji counted. He counted the number of times the swordsman said their names.

Luffy’s name was always said the most—his highest number so far had been 376. Then it was Usopp and Chopper, nearly tied in second and third place. Nami was fourth, and then there was Robin; however, he was in last place in this imaginary contest. Not once had the swordsman ever said his name. Hell, Zoro even said his own name sometimes, and Sanji was pissed.

He’d said the shitty swordsman’s name before. Yeah, he’d said it time and time again in hopes of finally hearing his own name slip from Zoro’s lips. Of course, that never happened. So Sanji was done. He’d given up on ever hearing his name said in Zoro’s baritone, and he slammed the door to galley shut with enough force to shake the wall.

Sanji ignored the tiny pang of pain in the back of his mind whenever he thought the marimo might call him by his name but would instead finish with an insult—or worse the dreaded “you.” Sanji would respond back harshly and stalk away or brawl with the swordsman. It was a simple solution.

When Franky and Brook joined the crew, a new wave of emotion hit Sanji when Zoro immediately took to yelling their names across the deck. At first, it seemed like anger which, in all honesty, Sanji expressed more openly than ever to Zoro; however, the feeling slowly turned to a lump in his throat and a burning in his gut. Sanji deduced that he was jealous. He could admit it because, after all, he’d practically been pining for the action since he met the swordsman. He’d never admit that of course. So Sanji accepted, once again, that he would have to settle for “shit cook” and “dartboard brow” for the rest of his life.

Now, amidst all of his never-going-to-say-my-name angst, Sanji had grown quite fond of the swordsman. Sanji liked their scuffles and arguments as much as they got on his nerves. He liked the way Zoro would come sit in the galley and clean his swords while Sanji made his delectable creations. He liked the way the swordsman would smile when Sanji was particularly witty and how he looked when he fought. He liked the determined set of his jaw. He liked the sound the three golden earrings made when the wind rustled through them. He liked the way Zoro cared about his nakama, how he would put everything on the line for any one of them—well, maybe with the exception of him since he wouldn’t even say his name. That finally thought made the cook feel insecure and his heart ache. Of course they were nakama, but just to the bare minimum. The only solace Sanji drew from Zoro’s actions was when they fought back to back. That was when he felt that Zoro treated him like an equal, treated him like someone he cared for.

Sanji sighed through his nose as his mind drifted to the reel of thoughts involving the swordsman. Sanji was peeling mangos for sorbet on the deck. He had a barrel full of peels and cores, and four large bowls full of mango chunks. He was content to be peeling the slimy fruit in the noonday sun.

“Hey, shit cook, whatcha doing?” Zoro asked from Sanji’s left. Sanji glanced over as he deposited another well cleaned core into the waste barrel. Zoro was sweaty, shirtless, a little out of breathe, and his chest was still heaving a little erratically. Sanji knew Zoro had just finished working out with a quick glance.

“Peeling mangos,” he said simply as he expertly sliced the peel off of one fruit in a long swirl. Zoro reached over and took the lengthy strip and bit the end off. He grimaced and swallowed quickly before depositing the skin in the barrel.

“Tastes nasty. What kinda dish is that good for?” Zoro said as he swallowed a swig of sake from the bottle Sanji hadn’t noticed in his hand. Sanji chuckled.

“You’re not supposed to eat the skin, dumbass marimo. Here, try this,” Sanji said, slicing off a small piece of the sticky fruit and offering it to Zoro. He took it with a suspicious look before popping it into his mouth.

“Oh, it’s sweet,” Zoro said. Sanji grinned and picked up another mango.

“Yeah, it’s gonna be part of the desert.”

“Hm, well, don’t botch it up, dartboard brow. It’s already on the borderline between too sweet and bearable,” Zoro said.

“Of course not, dumbass. What do you take me for?” Sanji said. He quickly cored another fruit and picked up another one.

“I’ll look forward to it then, Sanji,” Zoro said, chuckling as he turned to go.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You bet—wait, what did you just say?” Sanji froze. He must have heard him wrong. His ears must be playing tricks on him because Zoro definitely didn’t say his name just then.

“I’ll look forward to it?” Zoro repeated.

“No, after that,” Sanji said setting the paring knife down on a towel and wiping his hands on his apron. Zoro stiffened slightly, and Sanji’s heart rate picked up.

“Ah, seaweed brain,” Zoro said. Sanji growled and chucked a mango at Zoro’s head. The marimo turned and caught the projectile.

“Don’t fuck with me, Zoro. What did you say?” Sanji growled.

“Nothing significant, shit cook.”

“Bullshit!” Sanji yelled, hands bunching into fists at his sides. “Now tell me what you said!”

“What does it matter anyway, huh?” Zoro asked.

“Because it’s important to me, Zoro! Now, what. Did. You. Just. Say?” Sanji said, lips drawn in a thin line and eyebrow scrunched. How could he not think this was important? For the first time, he might’ve just said—

“Sanji,” Zoro said, looking away and scratching the back of his head. Sanji’s jaw dropped. Zoro had said his name. Zoro had said HIS name. HIS.

“Oh my god—you’re such an asshole,” Sanji said. Zoro whipped his head around and glared.

“What the fuck, shit cook?”

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for you to finally say my goddamn name? And you have the gall to say it’s not significant?” Sanji said. “Do you know how much it hurt when I was the _only_ one you never addressed by name? Huh?” Zoro blinked, face softening.

“Cook, I—,” Zoro began, but Sanji raised his hand to silence him.

“I don’t care what reason you have, Zoro. I honestly don’t care anymore because I at least know you remembered my name with the two brain cells you have to rub together,” Sanji said. He smiled.

“Now go swing your swords or something, marimo. I’ve gotta finish this before Luffy sniffs out the fruit,” Sanji said and sat back down. Sanji heard Zoro’s footsteps retreat down the steps. No matter how awkward that had been, he couldn’t stop smiling—even when a mango hit him in the back of his head.

For the next few days everything was back to normal. They didn’t discuss the incident. Zoro didn’t say Sanji’s name again, and Sanji rarely said his. They argued and fought as much as before, but Sanji felt less hostility, and the ache in his heart subsided.

It was about a week after the mango incident, and Sanji was in the galley washing dishes. It was too early to start on dinner, but too late to do anything else except clean up from breakfast and lunch. The galley door swung open, and Zoro walked in.

“How in the hell do you put your hands in freezing water when it’s below zero outside, Sanji?” he said. Sanji stopped and blinked stupidly at the swordsman for a moment.

“What?” Sanji said intelligently, mind centered on the fact the marimo had used his name. Again.

“Well, the water’s not heated, right? So doesn’t that—I don’t know—amplify the cold?” Zoro said as he set his swords down on the table with his cleaning kit.

“Uh, no? Because—here’s an idea—I can heat the water on the stove before pouring it in the sink, stupid swordsman,” Sanji chuckled and continued to scrub a pan in the warm soapy water. Zoro muttered something Sanji was sure was an insult under his breathe.

The two bantered and laughed as they continued their tasks. Sanji enjoyed the conversation, and it was even better with the few additional times Zoro said his name—three to be exact, but who’s counting?

For months, their interactions slowly changed from angry assaults to playful teasing. Zoro started to say Sanji’s name around other members of the crew—most of whom had to do a double-take the first couple times—and frequently when the two were alone. Sanji was almost perpetually in a good mood, humming while cooking and frolicking more than usual when serving the girls.

They reached a summer island, Reydel, and were invited to a festival held in honor of the princess’s birthday. The crew eagerly attended, and Sanji served the princess her meal. During the main course, she had pulled him down to eye-level and whispered in his ear.

“Your swordsman is a very stoic man. He only smiles when he drinks our prized alcohol and when he mentions you,” she said. Sanji had stopped and stared at Zoro laughing and drinking with Brook.

“You don’t say?” Sanji said. He had been wrong when he thought he couldn’t have been any happier than when Zoro first said his name. This was on a whole new level.

* * *

 

They were in a room in the castle. The walls were made of thick slabs of stone. The crew had agreed to stay the night in the castle only because Franky, Luffy, and Chopper had passed out, and lugging them back to the ship would have been hell. Zoro and Sanji were sharing a room.

Sanji didn’t know how it had started. One minute they were talking about the fireworks that went off at the end of the festival, and the next Sanji was pinned underneath Zoro’s body. They were kissing ferociously, like the other was the air needed to breath. Sanji gripped Zoro’s hair in one hand as the other ran up and down his shirtless chest. Zoro was pawing at Sanji’s button down, trying to resist the urge to rip the fabric. Sanji quickly unbuttoned the shirt with one hand and returned to exploring the hard tan flesh riddled with scars.

He’d used his legs to his advantage and flipped them over. He tore his lips away from Zoro’s and trailed kisses over towards the swordsman’s ear. Sanji sucked the three golden earrings into his mouth and sucked. He licked around the flesh that met metal and released the gold with a pop. He headed south, leaving open-mouthed kisses along Zoro’s neck and collarbone. He nipped at the top of Zoro’s scar, the one that almost cut him in half. He followed it down the length of Zoro’s body, detouring every so often to nip and lick at other small scars littering the tan canvas of skin.

Zoro’s hands ran through Sanji’s silky hair constantly, pulling and scratching on his scalp with blunt fingernails. Sanji flicked his tongue out into Zoro’s belly button before continuing down the length of the huge diagonal scar. He nipped at Zoro’s hip bone before licking his way over to the trail of darker green—motherfucker it really was natural, wasn’t it?—hair the led below the waistband of Zoro’s pants. Sanji hooked his fingers underneath the fabric and inched it down ever so slightly, looking up to meet Zoro’s heady gaze. He pulled the fabric down further, the black cotton catching on the outline of Zoro’s forming erection. Sanji placed an open mouth kiss over top of the fabric, feeling the heat soak through it and the flesh twitch before he finally pulled the pants down far enough for the appendage to spring free. Sanji pulled Zoro’s pants off and quickly replaced himself in front of his cock. He looked up when Zoro’s hand ran across his cheek.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, Sanji,” Zoro said, voice husky with lust. Sanji swallowed thickly as he wrapped his hand around the base of Zoro’s cock and glanced down towards the swollen flesh and back up into Zoro’s eyes, almost black in the dim lighting. His tongue flicked out over the head, tasting the slightly salty liquid beading on top without breaking eye contact. Zoro groaned.

Sanji took a long hard lick from the base of Zoro’s shaft all the way to the head and swirled his tongue around the foreskin. The rumble he heard from above him and the way the hand tightened in his hair egged Sanji on. He wrapped his lips around the head and sucked. He pressed the flat of his tongue against the head before sliding down the length as far as he thought he could go. He drew back up and hollowed his cheeks. He repeated the motion several times alternating between licks and nips to the large vein protruding from the underside of Zoro’s erection.

Sanji once again slid his mouth down the length of Zoro’s dick and stopped when his lips met his fingers where they were wrapped around the base. He fought the urge to gag, and his jaw was starting to hurt, but the little hisses and choked groans that died in Zoro’s throat were things Sanji didn’t want to stop hearing. He looked up at Zoro’s face, contorted in concentration but still painted with lust. Sanji swallowed.

“Fucking shit, Sanji!’ Zoro hissed, and Sanji’s ears were ringing. The way Zoro had said his name in that moment was just, _oh god_. In seconds, he was pulled back up to Zoro’s face and was once again pinned underneath the other man. Zoro was kissing him, chasing his own taste, and Sanji was melting. Zoro pulled away with a final press of kiss-bruised lips and looked down at Sanji. His eyes surveyed the pink cheeks, disheveled hair, lust-clouded eye, and swollen lips.

“I could get used to seeing you like this, shit cook,” Zoro hummed, hand traveling down to stroke at Sanji’s own erection.

“Ngh, Zoro, stop,” Sanji gasped, nose scrunching as Zoro rubbed his thumb over the slit. Zoro grinned coyly.

“Oh? But we’re just getting started, Sanji,” Zoro said, leaning over and nipping at Sanji’s pulse. “It’s only the beginning.”

Sanji should’ve known better than to hope that Zoro would ever call him by his name. He should’ve known better than to yearn for it to happen because now it was too late. He was hooked.


	4. Dream a Little Dream of Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an AU where Devil Fruits exist and the Blues are countries. Grand Line is a city that consists of sections. It's modern! Let me know if there's any mistakes!

Life’s a bitch sometimes. Sanji knows that all too well. He just didn’t think it would end like this though, from a stupid car accident. He had been driving back from the Baratie at half past midnight when a fucking drunk idiot crashed into him. Sanji remembered everything hurting all at once and muffled voices that flowed around him. But he couldn’t move, couldn’t see clearly. Everything just fucking hurt.

“Ah, this sucks. Am I really going to die?” he remembered thinking, before everything faded to black.

The steady beeping of machines roused him from the dark recesses of slumber. His eyes cracked open before the pain hit him, and he recognized the stark white brightness of a hospital room. He felt something covering his nose and mouth, sending fresh oxygen into his body. He was too tired for this shit, too exhausted to acknowledge he had survived. He faded back into unconsciousness.

Except this time, when he roused from the bliss of sleep, he couldn’t open his eyes, couldn’t move a muscle. Sanji could hear the nurses come and go, could feel doctors move the limbs he no longer had control of, could smell the antibiotics. He continued on, drifting in and out of awareness in his state of paralysis for who knew how long.

“How much longer does he have, you think?” Sanji overheard a nurse say. Presumably, there was another person in his room.

“Dunno. If he doesn’t respond to the treatments within the next month though, he’ll probably be a vegetable for the rest of his life,” a male voice sighed. Sanji could hear the pity in the man’s tone, and he wanted to kick him through the wall.

“Poor man, apparently he was an up-and-coming chef. I wonder if I’ll get to taste his food if he wakes up?” the woman said. The other scoffed bitterly, before rolling Sanji’s ankle in his hand to loosen the joint.

“Even if he wakes up, we don’t know the extent of his injuries. The damage to his left arm might’ve severed the nerves. He might never use his hand again.” Sanji would stop breathing if could. His hands? No, not his hands. He could deal with not walking again, not talking again, but his hands? Sanji chose to return to the state of blankness instead of face his possible future.

* * *

 

Zoro hated hospitals, despised them to his very core. The only reason he was still in the fucking hellhole was because of Chopper. If the little doctor wasn’t attending to him, he’d have taken his chances of surviving being practically sliced in half on his own, but those first few days after his shameful battle with Mihawk were just splotches of feverish consciousness.

“Zoro! You need to stay in bed! What if the stitches open again? You’ve lost too much blood in the past week to take that chance!” Chopper squeaked, rushing over towards where Zoro was looking out his window. He growled in annoyance but let the young doctor usher him back to his bed. He sighed as he glared at the flowers and baskets of fruit around his room. Luffy, Nami, and Usopp had been frantic this week, worrying and bringing him many get well gifts that he absolutely didn’t need. He had recoiled from the meat basket Luffy had offered him, and wasn’t surprised by the awe Luffy had when he simply gave it back him.

Zoro let his head hit the wall while Chopper took his vitals and performed his daily tests. Zoro scrunched his nose as he felt the pinch of a needle in his forearm. Oh, well, if Chopper had hooked him up to the IV again then he was bound to have some heavy duty pain killers flowing through his system soon. Zoro closed his eyes and faded off to sleep.

* * *

 

Sanji felt the tickle of grass against his skin and a warm breeze brush through his hair. Odd, he was supposed to be in a coma in a hospital somewhere, wasn’t he? The smell of salt water made him open his eyes in surprise. Sanji was sprawled on lush green grass, blinking owlish eyes up at a blue sky, filled with puffy cumulus clouds. He sat up, perplexed, and looked around at his surroundings. He was on a large hill overlooking a small harbor town with stone buildings with red roofs and stone archways. He saw the water that the town bordered, so clear and light that he thought he could see the fish swimming beneath the waves if he got close enough.

“What a wonderful dream,” Sanji whispered, before standing and brushing his black slacks off. He made his way down the hill, practically skipping. This was the first dream he’d had since the accident, and he was going to take full advantage of it.

Sanji stopped his advance towards the town when he heard a deep rumble. He turned to face the source of the noise, stance now alert and ready to attack. Sanji saw a man asleep, hands folded underneath his head as a pillow and three swords were sheathed at his waist. He was intrigued and strode towards the man.

Sanji crouched beside the man, peering into his face. His jaw was sharp, all his features hard lines even when asleep. His eyelashes were long, and fanned shadows danced across his bronze cheeks. Sanji snickered when he saw the man’s hair matched the color of the grass beneath him. Sanji stood up and walked back a few body lengths, shaking out his legs and cracking his neck before sprinting towards the sleeping figure. He leapt into the air and brought a straight kick down towards the man, and his foot made contact; however, it wasn’t the man’s green haramaki Sanji had hit, it was two swords, crossed above the unknown man’s chest.

Zoro’s body tensed, and his gaze flicked up to the figure that currently had a foot pressed against his swords. His hair shone like molten gold in the sunlight, his one visible blue eye sparkling with mischief as he smirked down at him.

“What the fuck are you doing, bastard?” Zoro growled, shoving the offending appendage away, and scrambled to his feet. The man just stood there, surveying him, all intent to attack had vanished.

“Well, grasshead, I was hoping you would entertain me. Haven’t spoken to anyone in a while,” Sanji replied, fishing out his cigarettes and lighter. The other looked perplexed.

“Grasshead? You, asshat. Why would I ever want to talk to you?” Zoro hissed, sheathing his swords.

“Well, my name’s Sanji Black, first of all. And I dunno, I guess because this is my dream?” Sanji said, taking a drag and blowing smoke into Zoro’s face. He waved away the smoke and glowered. Sanji’s dream? What the hell? Wasn’t he dreaming as well?

“Well, dartboard brow, since this is also my dream, I don’t intend to continue talking to you,” Zoro growled, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling. Sanji pondered this statement for a moment.

“Wait, so you’re dreaming too? Interesting,” Sanji said, turning to look at the town once again. Zoro followed his gaze. He still had his guard up, ready for any attack this freak could try, but the other just wistfully looked out at the water. Zoro’s stomach growled loudly, to his surprise, and Sanji whipped his head around. Zoro shrugged, he didn’t know pepole could get hungry in dreams.

“Let me cook something for you, moron,” Sanji said. Zoro cocked an eyebrow.

“You can cook? Hell, I don’t think I’d be able to taste anything in a dream, dumbass,” Zoro scoffed. Sanji shrugged.

“You never know. I can smell the ocean. I can taste the smoke. But, then again, that might be because I’m…” Sanji said. He trailed off, gaze darkening for a minute before he started strolling towards the town. Zoro didn’t like the look the other had sported, even if he had just met him. He followed after the cook.

Sanji walked into a house on the outskirts of the town, entering into a cozy home that reminded him of when he lived with Zeff above the Baratie. The floor was a dark polished wood and the walls a cream color that brightened the interior. As Sanji moved into the home, picture frames materialized on the walls, full of happy memories. Sanji glanced at the pictures that formed, recalling all of the parties and laughter that he had shared. The last picture, however, caught his eye. It was of him, Franky, Robin, and Brooke. It was the Franky and Robin’s wedding day and Sanji had been the best man. He’d known the couple for years, called them and Brooke his best friends as well, and his gaze fell to the floor when he thought of never seeing them again, never opening his eyes again and being able laugh with Robin as Franky talked excitedly of his engineering escapades, never sharing a cup of coffee as Robin read a book next to him, and never singing along with Brooke as he played the songs Sanji loved.

Sanji moved away from the picture and into the kitchen. He opened cupboards and found everything exactly where he would put it in his own kitchen. There was a light marble island with leather bar stools in the middle of the room. Sanji didn’t even notice the layout of the kitchen he dreamed of having in his own home take shape around him as Zoro sat at the island, in slight astonishment at the alterable world.

Sanji quickly whipped together a soup that Zeff had taught him how to make when he was little, something simple and easy that he could make on autopilot. Zoro sat and simply watched the cook dance around the kitchen, movement never wasted and fluid like water. Zoro concluded that Sanji was indeed a cook of high caliber when he watched an onion be minced at lightning speed. He pondered the thought of what type of swordsman Sanji would be since he could fillet a fish so quickly and cleanly. Soon, the soup was placed in front of him, and Sanji took a seat next to him with a bowl for himself.

“Thanks for the food,” Zoro said. He almost groaned when he tasted the first spoonful. He never understood why Luffy was so enthused with the idea of food, but if everything he ate tasted as good as this, then he could understand. He gobbled up the soup faster than he anticipated and Sanji smirked.

“Good, ain’t it, moss-for-brains?”  Sanji snickered, finishing off his own food. Zoro scowled.

“The name’s Roronoa Zoro, shit cook. And it was okay, for water with salt and vegetables in it,” Zoro smirked, jabbing Sanji in the side with his elbow. The cook glowered at him.

“My cooking’s going to be the best in the world, so you best remember this, dumbass,” Sanji said and turned away. He yawned and picked up the dishes to deposit them in the sink. He glanced at his hands as he put the dishes down. They were turning transparent, and slowly dematerializing. He didn’t feel alarmed, just tired. He looked over at Zoro, who seemed to be dissolving as well.

“Nice to meet you, dartboard brow.”

“Same to you, shitty swordsman.”

And then everything faded to black again.

* * *

 

Sanji returned to his state of paralysis after his dream. The familiar black was swimming with dots, and he was still unable to move. He groaned in his own head, what a weird dream. He returned to his daily life of waiting and of being moved with no control over his own body.

Zoro woke up groggy and feeling full. He wanted to move around again. He wanted his swords back, even the ones that were broken by Mihawk. He couldn’t forget the look the cook’s eyes had before he started marching to the town. It was full of fiery anger and frustration, at what he didn’t know. But the way the cook’s mouth turned down relayed a feeling of sadness that he didn’t want to show. Zoro would heal fast. Zoro would get stronger fast. Zoro just felt in his gut that that’s what he should be doing.

* * *

 

Sanji and Zoro dreamed often. Meeting each other in their alterable world at least five times a day. Sometimes the dreams were short. Zoro would take a nap before going back to his physical therapy or having to do more tests. Sanji didn’t want to be in his aware state, so he simply slept most of his days away.

Their interactions changed from those of strangers to those of acquaintances and to those of friends quickly. They fought and argued like cats and dogs most times. Most of the fights would end when Sanji would draw back, and a look of yearning and utter sadness would flicker across his features for an unguarded second. Zoro was haunted by those looks, constantly pushing himself to recover quicker to ignore the ache he felt when he thought of the cook.

Other times, Sanji would cook for hours, never ceasing his movements, just making so much food so he could force himself into the false reality. Zoro would sit and meditate in another room of their makeshift house or clean his swords quietly in Sanji’s presence as the cook whirled around the kitchen.

“Hey, marimo?” Sanji spoke, the two were on a dock at the edge of the water. Sanji was sitting on the edge, pant legs rolled up to his knees, and Zoro was sprawled on his back with his knees hanging over the edge. Zoro grunted a response as he let his feet dangle in the waves.

“What are you doing in reality?” Sanji asked. Zoro looked over at the cook’s profile, but could guess nothing of his expression behind his curtain of hair. Zoro scratched his head.

“Training to become the best swordsman in the world,” he said simply. He had been allowed to go home from the hospital last week. Zoro had returned to his job as a physical trainer the day after, his boss giving him an earful. Sanji puffed out two smoke circles before blowing a stream of smoke through them. Zoro wondered how long Sanji had been smoking to be able to do that.

“Mm. Really? That’s your dream?” Sanji asked, no malice behind his words or doubt. Sanji knew Zoro wouldn’t lie about what he truly loved, and Zoro knew he knew it.

“What about you, shit cook? What are you aiming for?” Zoro asked, rising up to his elbows to get a better look at the blond. Sanji stiffened minutely, his back tensing and straightening.

“I want to wake up and cook again, then I’ll get back to my dream,” Sanji said slowly. The words sounded raw and wrong to Zoro. What did he mean by wake up? From the dream? Well he could, couldn’t he? If the bastard didn’t enjoy his company then he should’ve just said so, damnit.

“Bastard, if you don’t wanna…” Zoro started, but stopped when Sanji turned, and his eye landed on Zoro. His expression was calm and schooled into neutrality, the cherry red butt of the cigarette casting a slight orange hue on his pale cheek. His eye was what made Zoro’s words die on his tongue, and his throat feel tight. Sanji’s eye was a swirling stormy sea. The iris a blue that was interrupted by the grey waves and silver fish floating beneath the choppy surface. There was so much regret and sorrow swirling around in that storm that Zoro was taken aback. He could tell the cook’s hope was dwindling, for whatever reason.

“Cook… What…” Zoro fumbled for words as Sanji turned back to look at the calm sea.

“I’m in a coma, shithead. Have been for the past couple months. Some damn drunk driver put my dream on hold, marimo,” Sanji said, not looking at Zoro. The swordsman straightened up and looked out at the ocean as well, listening to whatever Sanji would tell him.

“I was gonna have my own fucking restaurant, right on the coast of All Blue. I was gonna make my food the best in the goddamn Grand Line and then the goddamn world, damnit!” Sanji hissed, nails digging into the wood of the dock.

“I was gonna do so much, and now I can’t,” Sanji said, stubbing out his cigarette. Zoro swallowed, trying to quench his suddenly dry throat.

“You still can, dumbass,” Zoro said. Sanji grit his teeth.

“I can’t! The doctors said I had a month after the accident till I was a permanent vegetable. I can’t, even if I wanted to, I just… I just can’t,” Sanji hissed, shoulders slumping and voice holding too much defeat for Zoro to handle coming from the cook. He grabbed his chin and forced him to look him dead in the eyes.

“I don’t believe in God or whatever, shit cook. I don’t believe in love at first sight. I don’t believe in fate. I don’t even know if I believe in this dream shit. But what I do believe in, shit cook, is my strength. My training. My dream. My nakama. I believe in you, Sanji, and I know you can wake up and recover and make your goddamn restaurant and cook the best goddamn food in the fucking world because I know _you_ ,” Zoro said. He knocked his forehead against Sanji’s and looked into the startled eye.

“So hurry and wake up, shit cook, so I can kick your ass for acting like a wuss.”

* * *

 

It had been four months since then. Nine months since the accident, but Sanji hadn’t lost hope, thanks to Zoro. He stayed in his dark awareness, trying to open his eyes or move his fingertips or toes. He had succeeded in making his hand twitch last week, succeeded in scrunching his nose two days ago, and he felt like he would open his eyes any day now.

He still dreamed with Zoro, just not as often. But ever since that day, Sanji had learned so much more about Zoro, and Zoro had learned just as much about him.

Zoro disliked sweet things. Zoro was an orphan like him. Zoro had been taken in by a man named Koshiro, and his dream had been strengthened with the death of his best friend Kuina. Zoro was a physical trainer. He had lived in East Blue until moving to Grand Line City. Zoro’s best friends were Luffy, Usopp, and Nami. They all lived in a shared house with Nami’s girlfriend Vivi and Ussopp’s girlfriend Kaya. Chopper also lived with them and was like their own kid, except he was probably the most responsible out of all of them. Zoro liked sake and liquor to the point where you could call him an alcoholic. Sanji knew so much more about this man than he had ever known about anyone else, even Zeff. It just felt right to be with Zoro.

Zoro knew Sanji had never been sick. His knives were some of his most precious possessions. Sanji smoked King Ground or Death cigarettes. He was a fucking pervert when women were involved. Sanji liked spicy seafood pasta, and he always woke up at five in the morning. Sanji also spoke French, the language common in North Blue where he grew up. Zoro knew about the rock and Zeff and Sanji’s love for the geezer and the Baratie. He’d heard stories of Patty and Carne, and he must personally punch them for some of the shit they got Sanji into. Zoro was also aware of Sanji’s married best friends, Robin and Franky. Robin was the reason why Sanji was not as woman-crazy as he could've been and has taught him many different things about history. Franky encouraged him to be more creative with his food when he was younger. Both influenced his cooking as he grew up with them. Brooke was also one of Sanji’s close friends, and he met the man later than Franky and Robin. Brooke bought Sanji his first Canali suit and Sanji’s worn the brand ever since. Not to mention, Law, Sanji’s doctor and friend from college. Zoro knew of Sanji’s frustration with Law’s dislike for bread. Zoro found Sanji was working his way into his life, sneaking up his ranks of nakama. Zoro just felt comfortable around Sanji, like I was where h was meant to be.

But then their dreamland altered. They were no longer at the harbor town, instead they were at the top of the Eifel Tower in Paris in North Blue. Sanji learned more cooking skills in Paris than he could have from learning solely under Zeff. It was a nice view, the city lit up at night, but Zoro couldn’t help but feel like he’d missed something important about this place.

Sanji had a glass of red wine while Zoro held his bottle of sake. They just sat, staring at the twinkling lights of cars passing beneath them and listening to the laughter and chatter carried on the slight breeze. The stars were dim, and the moon was bright and full. It seemed closer than usual, its crevices and craters more visible to Zoro than ever before.

“I loved Paris. The sights, the sounds, the food, the women,” Sanji said suddenly, Zoro couldn’t put his finger on why Sanji’s tone seemed so familiar.

“Fucking ero-cook,” Zoro said, smile playing on his lips as he bumped his shoulder against Sanji’s, and Sanji leaned back into him.

“Hey, shitty swordsman?” Sanji said quietly. Zoro hummed in response as he took a swig of sake.

“Do you think we would’ve met in reality?” Sanji said. His voice didn’t waver, but Zoro could tell that something was hidden beneath his words.

“I dunno. But since you’re gonna make the best fucking food in the world, you would’ve met Luffy eventually. So probably,” Zoro snickered, thinking about Luffy trying to raid Sanji’s restaurant.

“Would we have been like this?” Sanji asked, and the question struck Zoro as odd.

“Cook, I don’t think anything could make me act differently with you. You’re too pigheaded and stupid to not get on my nerves,” Zoro smirked when Sanji elbowed him in the side but returned to leaning against him.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Well, then come see me at Yuba Hospital in the Alabasta section of Grand Line City, marimo.”

“What? You’re in Yuba? Do you know how long I’ve been wondering where you’re staying?” Zoro asked incredulously. He turned to face Sanji, but Sanji didn’t turn towards him.

“Zoro, do you think… Do you think I’ll make it?” Sanji asked, and Zoro still couldn’t remember why this seemed familiar.

“Yeah, I know you’ll make it,” Zoro said warily. Sanji turned to Zoro and just looked at him. His stormy blue eye jumped with silver fish.

Zoro felt it in his gut. He knew where this familiar feeling came from: the night before Kuina died. Zoro had felt something hiding behind her words, something neither of them knew would happen. His eyes widened in recognition, and Sanji smiled, knowing he had understood. It was a goodbye.

“Sanji, what the fuck are you planning on doing?” Zoro whispered. He didn’t know why his words came out hushed, but it felt like even the slightest move would end this dream. Sanji’s smile tightened. He wasn’t going to tell Zoro anything.

“Just come see me, okay?” Sanji said. For the first time since Zoro had met him, Sanji’s voice wavered. Zoro couldn’t speak as he saw the stormy eye shine with extra moisture, and the pale cheeks redden ever so slightly.

“Okay?” Sanji repeated, leaning more heavily on Zoro. Zoro couldn’t breathe. Zoro couldn’t look away. He couldn’t even blink, because if he did then everything would be over and Sanji would be gone.

“…O-okay,” Zoro said. Sanji smiled wider, his eye scrunching up, and the extra moisture, which couldn’t possibly be tears, escaped his eye.

“Thank you, Zoro,” Sanji said, and he leaned in and pressed his lips to Zoro’s. It couldn’t have possibly been for more than a second, but it seemed like eons to the two. It was everything they didn’t dare say, and it was everything they could say.

Sanji was scared, he never would admit it any other way, but he was truly frightened. He couldn’t express what he felt for Zoro in words, so he had just kissed him. Zoro had pressed back, and warm hope had filled Sanji’s heart. He pulled away, knowing the drowsiness he was feeling was him fading from the dream. He smiled one last time at Zoro’s worried face.

“Zoro, good…” Sanji began, but Zoro closed the distance between them once more. Only briefly, but it still took Sanji’s breathe away.

“Don’t you dare say it… Don’t you dare!” Zoro hissed when he pulled back. Sanji couldn’t say goodbye to him. It would be like Zoro was losing someone all over again, and Zoro couldn’t lose Sanji. He wouldn’t lose Sanji. Sanji didn’t say goodbye.

“See you later, Zoro.”

* * *

 

Zoro sat bolt upright in his bed. He looked at the clock on his bedside table. It was four twenty three in the morning. The first train started running at five. He needed to get a move on. Zoro jumped out of bed, stumbling to grab his swords, put his pants on, and shove his feet into his boots. With all the racket he was making, the whole house was bound to be awake.

“Ugh, Zoro? Why are you up? Has the meat been stolen?” Luffy asked groggily, but Zoro simply shoved the boy’s sandals in his face and moved to leave their shared room. Nami and Vivi slept across the hall, and they were soon up and moving to wake Chopper, Usopp, and Kaya.

Zoro had mentioned Sanji within the first months of meeting him. Everyone knew Sanji had had an accident and was in a coma. They hadn’t believed him at first, thinking he was having side-effects from the pain medications. But Luffy had just laughed.

“Well, I’m a rubberman! Anything’s possible in a world full of Devil Fruits!” Luffy had exclaimed. Everyone had come around to the idea that, yes, Sanji did indeed exist, and now he was practically a part of the crew. Everyone had heard Zoro talk about their interactions with Chopper as the reindeer took notes on the new dreaming phenomenon.

“Are you sure he’s gonna be there? Let alone awake?” Nami asked as they all sprinted towards the train station, either clad in pajamas or clothes thrown on in a rush.

“I don’t know and I don’t care, witch! I’m trusting him and hoping he doesn’t kill himself with whatever he’s attempting,” Zoro said, running behind the group so he wouldn’t get lost, not that he ever did, the buildings just moved when he was leading.

“Yeah, but Zoro, Alabasta’s a two day train ride from Skypeia! What happens if…” Usopp said but bit his lip when he saw Zoro’s glower.

“He’s not gonna die! Sanji’s too strong for that, and…and he didn’t…” Zoro trailed off shaking his head.

“Didn’t what, Zoro?” Kaya asked, breathing growing heavy from their run to the train station.

“He didn’t say goodbye!”

* * *

 

The crew made the train to Alabasta with two minutes to spare. They were exhausted and immediately hunkered down on the benches for a good nap, at least, until Luffy woke up to the smell of food.

The ride was uneventful and smooth, but Zoro was worried. He spent most of the two days travel asleep. He wandered around the dreamland that he and Sanji shared, creating multiple landscapes in the hopes of rooting Sanji out, but he never found him. Sanji was always there, and when Zoro couldn’t find him all he had to do was make a new world and Sanji would appear next to him. Everyone else appeared unaware of his concerns. They were excited to finally meet the hot-blooded and foul-mouthed cook that could take Zoro in a duel. But whenever Zoro woke up to eat or talk or do anything, he was constantly plagued by thoughts of the cook being gone…or worse.

When they finally reached Alabasta, Zoro had a constant worry plaguing his brain. Sanji wouldn’t be there. Sanji was gone. Sanji was dead. He was too late. Sanji was dead.

They ran towards Yuba Hospital, Vivi in the lead. She knew the roads of her home section of Grand Line City like the back of her hand. What normally would have taken five hours to reach, took two, and the group was standing outside the tall white building in both anticipation and fear. Zoro had had enough worrying. He was going to find Sanji.

He stormed into the building, everyone hot on his trails, and made his way to the reception desk. A young woman with wild red hair sat tapping at a computer.

“What room is Sanji Black in?” Zoro demanded, slamming his hands on the desk and leveling the woman with a glare. He needed to find Sanji. _Now_.

“Uh-uhm…Let me just ch-check,” she stuttered, intimidated by Zoro’s intensity. Nami slapped the back of his head and dragged him away from the desk.

“Idiot! Don’t harass people! We all want to meet him, Zoro! We all want him to be okay,” Nami said, releasing her hold on his earrings.

“I-I-I’m so sorry, but…Mr. Black is only allowed t-to be seen by f-family and other doctors learning from Dr. Trafalagar Law’s pr-practices,” the receptionist stuttered, and Zoro shoved his way forward once again.

“What the fuck do you mean? We can’t see him?” Zoro yelled. No, no, no! He needed to see Sanji!

“I-I-I’m sorry, sir, but there’s nothing I can do unless you’re…” she squeaked.

“I know, I heard you! ‘Family or doctors,’ and that’s bullshit! What room is he—hey! Chopper! Put me the fuck down!” Zoro yelled as Chopper shifted forms and wrapped his arms around Zoro’s thrashing figure.

“I’m Doctor Tony Tony Chopper of Drum Hospital in Skypeia sector. Please let us through, miss,” Chopper said calmly as he held out his Drum Hospital doctor ID. The receptionist glanced at it quickly before looking at her computer once again.

“Room 617,” she said. The group bowed in gratitude before rushing off to room 617. Chopper didn’t let Zoro’s squirming form go, and they reached the sixth floor in record timing. Zoro, however, finally managed to break free of Chopper’s arms and dashed off down the hall, reading numbers outside the rooms.

“667…643…632…620…619…618…617!” Zoro exclaimed, skidding to a halt outside Sanji’s room number. He froze with his hand outstretched towards the door. Fear clawed at his heart, what if Sanji was dead? What if he was too late?

“Mr. Black all of your tests have reassured me that your muscles have retained their strength from before the accident. I can assure you that all medical procedures I have done to preserve your strength have no lasting side effects; however, your mind has not fully regained control over your body just yet, so you must stay in bed,” Zoro heard a voice say through the door.

“Yeah. Yeah, yeah. Law, how many times have I told you to call me Sanji even when I'm one of your fucking patients?” Zoro stopped breathing. He knew that voice, even with the slight rasp of not speaking for so long. He could remember it so clearly.

“I’m getting outta bed, damnit! I need to find Zoro, Law! Don’t you dare try to hold me down, you, son of a bitch,” Zoro heard Sanji’s voice again. He couldn’t hold himself back anymore.

“Hey, Zoro! You can’t meet him by yourself!” Zoro grabbed the handle and pulled the door open so fast he hit Luffy in the face as the boy ran towards him shouting. The others weren’t far behind, but Zoro didn’t care.

Zoro was stuck in the door. He didn’t care about how he must've looked with his swords dangling from his hip, white shirt and haramaki wrinkled, and with a brown combat boot on his right foot and a black one on his left. He didn’t care that his hair was messier than usual or that his eyes had dark bags under them. He didn’t care that he could feel all of his nakama’s presences behind him as they tried to look in the room. No, all he cared about was the man he saw struggling to stand by the hospital bed.

He looked like he’d been through hell. His hair was a mess and didn’t look as golden as it had in the dream, his legs were quaking from the effort of standing, even if he had all of his muscles or whatever, his goatee was less orderly, and the duck pajamas that he was wearing weren’t up to par with his usual wardrobe choices. But there Sanji was, his back to the door as he focused on standing.

The other man, presumably Law, looked over at the doorway and sighed, the dark shadows under his eyes emphasizing his exhaustion, but he smiled at Sanji and nodded towards the doorway where Zoro was still frozen, staring.

“What’s wrong, Law? Who’s at…oh,” Sanji said, turning his head to look behind him, and froze, knees locking, and Sanji suddenly stood tall and still. _Oh_. That’s all he could say because he was surprised and happy and overjoyed and scared and doubting if that was really who he thought it was. Sanji couldn’t express how elated he felt as he stared at Zoro for who knew how long.

“Oh… Oh, God please don’t let this be a dream. Please let this be reality,” Sanji thought. Zoro blinked quickly, leaning forward like he was going to run in. Oh, he must have said that out loud.

Both moved at the same time, but time seemed to slow as they struggled to get to the other. Sanji turned and his knees buckled as he took his first step. He caught himself and launched into his next step, wobbling side to side like a baby deer. His legs felt so foreign, he couldn’t truly feel the ground beneath his toes, but he didn’t stop moving towards Zoro. Zoro rushed into the room, not moving fast enough to catch Sanji when he almost fell and pushed himself closer. Zoro couldn’t seem to get to Sanji fast enough, and when he grabbed the outstretched hand and pulled the man forward he felt like he’d been shocked.

Sanji fell into Zoro’s arms, latching on desperately to the white shirt the other was wearing. Zoro’s arms were crushing him to his chest, taking the weight off his shaking limbs. Sanji buried his head into Zoro’s shoulder as he breathed in the familiar smell from his dreams. Zoro pressed his lips to Sanji’s head and practically shook as he felt fucking _tears_ prick his eyes. He’d found him. He’d got him. He had Sanji, and he was not dead or asleep but breathing and hugging him back and scrubbing his face against Zoro’s shirt so hard that Zoro was sure he’d rub his nose raw.

“It’s not a dream. You’re real. I’m real. And we’re both alive and awake, shit cook,” Zoro whispered, lips brushing against Sanji’s earlobe with every word. Sanji’s body quaked in his arms, and a sob broke free from his throat.

“Fuck, it’s you. It’s really, really you, Zoro. Fuck!” Sanji hissed, rubbing away the tears in Zoro’s shirt. He pulled his head back and looked at Zoro’s face and smiled, eyes still watery.

“Yup, that’s your stupid forehead and your stupid nose. Those are your stupid eyes and cheeks and ears. That’s your stupid fucking green hair!” Sanji exclaimed before mashing their mouths together with a brutal pressure, and Zoro kissed him back just as hard.

“No! Usopp, I can’t see! What’s happening? What’s happening?” Zoro heard Luffy wail from behind him. He heard a person gasp, Chopper squeak, and Vivi giggle.

“C’mon, Usopp, pay up. I told you so!” Nami snickered, and Usopp groaned.

Zoro pulled back, lips tingling from the harshness of the kiss, and looked at Sanji’s half-lidded expression. He felt Sanji’s hot breathe fan across his face and knocked their foreheads together. He felt Sanji’s trembling fingers digging into his back harshly and noticed that he was shaking as well.

“Thanks for coming to see me, shitty swordsman,” Sanji said, voice raspy from the coma and the kiss. Zoro smiled and pecked Sanji’s lips once more.

“I told you I believed in you, shit cook.”


	5. Wet Chocolate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Merry Christmas! I edited the last chapter because my grammar was fucking HORRID, and it's Christmas so I'm going to post two chapters hopefully! Woot, woot! Thanks for the kudos and the comments!

Sanji pursed his lips before exhaling in short puffs, smoke circles floating upwards. He was leaning against a wall in an alley, out of sight. The Strawhats had docked at a quaint little autumn island, and Sanji had already restocked the food supply. He had decided to take a walk and to window-shop to pass the time; however, his simple outing was ruined when he found a store past the market he had visited that sold absolutely exquisite looking chocolate.

He had entered the cozy shop, had surveyed the contents, and had sampled a few. Sanji bought vanilla flavored chocolate for Chopper, chocolate covered cherries for Robin and Nami, milk chocolate for Luffy (it was the cheapest, and he could buy more in bulk), dark chocolate with a pinch of cinnamon for Usopp, toffee chips for Franky and Brook, and the darkest and richest chocolate the store had for Zoro and himself because it would go great with sake and red wine.

There was just one problem: Zoro hated chocolate.

Sanji had realized this as he practically skipped back to the Sunny, and his mood fell. Fuck the stupid marimo and his fucking stupid taste buds. Sanji was hoping that they could be civil to each other for more than five minutes, their standing record, because of the olive branch. But no, that just wasn't possible now was it?

So there Sanji was, smoking and debating whether or not to turn around and return one hundred beris worth of chocolate or to just say 'Screw it' and try to eat it all himself. He stubbed the cigarette out on the bottom of his shoe and chucked it into a nearby dumpster before walking out of the shadowed alley. The cobblestone street almost glistened in the mid-afternoon sunlight, and Sanji clicked his tongue before shoving his free hand in his pocket and marching with hunched shoulders towards the Sunny once again.

If he hadn't been so pissed off at his mistake, Sanji would have seen the tuft of green hair sooner; however, he didn't notice the source of his woes until a soggy shoulder slammed into his and nearly knocked the bag of chocolates from his grip. He growled and glowered at his assailant before his face turned to surprise and then to disappointed recognition.

"Oh, it's just the fucking marimo I was itching to clobber," Sanji said, voice void of anger. Zoro cocked an eyebrow at the strange look the cook was giving him but turned fully around none-the-less.

"And why would that be, dartboard brow?" Zoro questioned, one hand resting on his swords, just in case the cook did strike out. Sanji simply sighed.

"Because I wasted one hundred beris on you, and there's nothing I can do about it."

"The fuck? How's that my fault?" Zoro asked, perplexed at the very idea of Sanji trying to be even _remotely_ nice to him.

"Because it's your goddamn sense of taste that's the issue! Fucking hell, I mean, I just thought 'Hm, maybe the marimo would be happy that I bought some chocolate that goes well with sake.' But, nope, no chance what-so-ever," Sanji said. He looked away from Zoro, and the other swore he almost saw a pout.

"I hate chocolate," Zoro said, and Sanji almost lunged at him.

"I fucking know that, shithead!" Sanji grit out.

"Well, then why the fuck would you go to the trouble of buying it for me then?" Zoro yelled.

"I don't fucking know! I just felt like it!" Sanji screamed back. Zoro scrubbed his wet hair furiously before reaching into the bag and pulling out the dark chocolate Sanji had meant to give him.

"What the fuck? Wait, goddamnit, don't waste..." Sanji started, but sighed when Zoro shoved a handful of the chocolate into his mouth, "...it."

"I mdhumn mundernnshannn whaass jaa bijjj dea (I don't understand what's the big deal)," Zoro said around his mouth full of chocolate. His nose scrunched in slight disgust at the cursory pang of sugar on his tongue; however, by the end, Zoro was pleasantly surprised by the bitterness.

"Needs some sake, but they ain't half bad. I'll eat them," Zoro said as he returned the chocolate to the bag in Sanji's arm. Sanji looked up surprised, but he was soon smiling brightly.

"Right? I knew that they would go well with alcohol!" Sanji beamed, and Zoro couldn't help but smile back.

They started on their way toward the Sunny once more when Sanji noticed something out of the ordinary: Zoro's hair was dripping wet.

"Hey, why are you soaked?" Sanji said, surveying Zoro's sodden appearance. The man visibly stiffened and turned away from Sanji, cheeks tinted pink.

"It was a sudden downpour," Zoro said. Sanji thought about that statement for a moment.

"But, marimo, it hasn't rained all day..." Sanji said, "Oh my god. You didn't walk off a cliff and fall into the sea did you?" Zoro's cheeks grew redder, and Sanji stopped walking.

"You... Dumbass!" Sanji said before bursting out into a fit of laughter. Zoro whipped around and glared at Sanji, cheeks still flaming.

"I didn't walk off a cliff! I just fell down a really steep, and moving, hill into a lake!" Zoro hissed. Sanji laughed harder and grabbed at his stomach. Zoro growled and started walking away.

"W-wait! Marimo watermelon! Hold on, that's the wrong way!" Sanji said, finally regaining control of himself.

"Watermelon?" Zoro said, turning back once again and catching up to Sanji.

"Yeah, ya know because your hair is green, and you're blushing?" Sanji snickered, wiggling his eyebrow before Zoro slammed his shoulder into Sanji's.

"C'mon, I need to get this awful chocolate shit outta my mouth," Zoro said. Sanji chuckled and jabbed him back.

"Shut up, asshole. Don't push your luck," Sanji said. The two walked backed to the Sunny, bickering and laughing the whole way. After setting the bag down on the counter in the galley and taking out the alcohol, Sanji realized the marimo was still in his company, let alone smiling at him.

Maybe he got what he wanted after all.


	6. Mistletoe Mayhem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's my Christmas extra, sorry it's late and all but I tried! Let me know if there are any mistakes!

Nami was _pissed_. Not the usual pissed like when her nakama were being too loud or destructive or both, but the _pissed_ -pissed, the kind that was earth-shattering rage and always resulted in a migraine. Not even Vivi, the angel that she was, could stop her because Nami was that angry.

Why? Simple: Christmas, two sleepless nights of wrapping presents and counting her losses in beris, and, oh, not to mention the two emotionally-constipated rivals that couldn't differentiate between sexual tension and fury. Yes, it was simple, and Nami was _pissed_.

It was Christmas Day, to be more specific, eight at night. Their friends had all arrived by three at her and Vivi's house and exchanged pleasantries while Sanji set to work cooking up a feast. Everything was going fine, Sanji was happily preparing the meal, Luffy was playing with Chopper and Usopp as they tried to guess what their presents were, Franky and Robin were lounging on the loveseat across from Nami and Vivi as they all chatted, Brook was playing joyous and warm Christmas music, and Zoro was nursing a bottle of sake by the fireplace as he laughed at the antics throughout the room. Everything was perfect by Nami's book, but of course as the thought occurred to her, something went wrong. She wasn't completely sure Robin had no "hand" in the current issue.

Sanji had come out to announce that dinner was ready when he stopped mid-stride. His eyes were glued to the ceiling, and his face paled considerably.

"Oh, Sanji! Mistletoe!" Luffy called as he glanced up from his position on the floor underneath Usopp and Chopper. Nami's temple throbbed. She had sworn she didn't put up any mistletoe. Sanji was still standing awkwardly underneath the leafy plant and chewing on his bottom lip.

Robin directed Zoro's attention behind him and at the cook. He glanced from the blond, to Robin's hand pointing at the ceiling, to the mistletoe, and back to the cook.

"Oh, fuck no," Zoro said, sneering at the offending decoration. Sanji stiffened and looked away.

"I am not kissing his ugly mug," Sanji said, lip jutting out slightly.

"Who're you calling ugly, curly?" Zoro spat back. Nami sighed. Whatever, they could both walk away, and the fight would end quickly.

"But you guys have to kiss! It's, like, the Christmas spirit!" Luffy said as he disentangled himself from his two playmates. Nami felt her scowl deepen, there goes the easy way out.

"What the hell? I don't give a shit about spirit or whatever. I said no!" Zoro said to Luffy before trying to march out of the room. Franky blocked his path.

"Sorry, Zoro-bro. C'mon, be a good sport," Franky said, and Zoro glowered.

"Franky..." Zoro growled, but his shoulders slumped slightly as Franky spun him back around towards Sanji who was trying to escape back to the kitchen, but Robin was blocking his path.

"Robin-chan, please, oh, please move?" Sanji practically begged, but Robin simply turned him around and shoved him forward. He stumbled until he was a few feet away from Zoro. he looked up and immediately avoided the other's eyes. Zoro's eyebrow twitched in annoyance.

"Luffy, there's no other way out?" Zoro said, eyes not leaving the blond. Luffy hummed an affirmative. Zoro blew a determined breathe out his nose before moving towards Sanji. Sanji blinked owlishly in surprise and took a step back.

Zoro grabbed the cook's wrist and pulled him forward, sliding his torso against his own. Sanji braced a hand against Zoro's bicep, hoping for some leverage. Zoro looked at Sanji's one visible eye and for the first time noticed his eye wasn't simply blue. No, the silver fish jumping in the blue pool glittered in the firelight, turning into a molten gold that rivaled his hair. Sanji's grip tightened on Zoro's bicep as if he wanted to stabilize himself. Zoro's eyes followed Sanji's tongue as it flicked out to wet nervous thin lips.

"Fuck it. It's one time, okay, shit cook?" Zoro said, breathe ghosting over Sanji's cheeks.

Sanji didn't have time to respond as Zoro's chapped lips pressed against his. Sanji sucked in a small gasp of surprise, lips parting just enough for Zoro to dart his tongue inside before Sanji could close them. Sanji's hand was shaking as he gripped Zoro's shirt. His head was spinning, he could feel Zoro's body heat seeping through his dress shirt, he could feel both their heartbeats, and the man had shoved his tongue into his mouth. Too quickly for Sanji's liking, Zoro pressed one last lingering kiss to Sanji's lips before pulling away. Sanji stood awkwardly underneath the mistletoe as Zoro turned to Luffy and silently asked for approval. Luffy nodded, smiling happily.

"Food's ready," Sanji said, voice quiet and face red.

Nami felt a sinking feeling in her gut as she sat down next to Vivi. Sanji had not pulled out any of the ladies' chairs so they could sit down and had instead simply sat down and sipped at his glass of wine. Zoro appeared to be fine, but he shoveled food into his mouth with a ferocity rivaling Luffy's. The two avoided eye contact throughout the meal. Then it was time to exchange presents, and everything was going smoothly until Sanji approached Zoro with his hands behind his back. Everyone except Zoro could see a large red and gold wrapped box, and Zoro's shoulders rose in alert.

"You don't have more of that damn plant do you?" Zoro said. Sanji growled and stood straight.

"No, dickhead, I don't. I do have, uhm. Well, I just, uh..." Sanji started to glare before his gaze drifted away, and he tapped his foot on the floor nervously when Zoro interrupted him.

"What, you're not going to say, 'I have feelings for you' are you? 'Cause you know if you do, I will kill you," Zoro said, smirk forming on his face. Sanji stiffened and returned to glaring at the marimo.

"Oh, get your head out of your ass."

"That's not a solid, 'No,' shit cook," Zoro said. Sanji's cheeks felt hot.

"God, I just wanted to enjoy the fucking holiday, but of course that's not possible with a Neanderthal," Sanji said. Zoro stood to glare at eye level with Sanji.

"Don't kid yourself, ero-cook. I can barely stand to be in the same room as you," Zoro spat. Sanji flinched at the words but held his ground.

"I didn't think you were such a jackass!"

"Fuck off! I can't think straight with you around!" Zoro regretted the words as soon as he said them. He wasn't looking for a fight with the cook.

"Fine! Merry Fucking Christmas, marimo!" Sanji said, shoving the present into Zoro's hands before practically sprinting back into the kitchen. Zoro stood with his brows scrunched in confusion. Their fights never resulted in one of them fleeing the room.

Now this is where Nami became _pissed_. How could he be so stupid? She stomped over to the stunned swordsman and grabbed a fistful of his shirt and yanked him down to eye level.

"Open the damn gift. Look at it, appreciate it, and go in and apologize, you motherfucking moron," Nami said dangerously low. Zoro pulled away and snarled at her but ripped the wrapping paper away. He lifted the lid of the box and, oh. Wow.

Inside the box was a black bandana embroidered with his name in dark green silky letters, a blood red sash to replace the "ratty old haramaki" he wore constantly, and three glistening gold earrings. Of course Zoro had some cheap old earrings from when he got the piercings, but these were actual gold and glistened in the firelight like the cook's eyes and hair. _Wow_ _._ Zoro quickly replaced his old earrings with the new ones before entering the kitchen.

Nami felt her rage ebb, and a pounding in her temple took its place. Sanji yelped from the privacy of the kitchen, and the quiet clinking and clanking of pots and pans turned into a frantic clatter before the kitchen went silent. Luffy giggled as he peeked around the wall and then returned to the group with a thumbs up. Nami sighed in relief and grabbed her bottle of wine and took a gulp, headache easing slightly as she wrapped an arm around Vivi's waist.

"Stop! There's no-! There's no mistle-!" Sanji's voice yelled from the kitchen, being cut off by presumably Zoro. A loud thump sounded, and Zoro skidded out the kitchen doorway with a groan.

"STOP KISSING ME, YOU STUPID MARIMO!" Sanji screeched from the safety of the kitchen. Zoro huffed and pushed himself up onto his elbows before looking at his amused nakama.

"Men," Zoro grumbled.


	7. There Have Been Times When Times Were Hard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so my late New Year's fic! I don't know how this'll go down with all of you, but I wanted to write it so I did, and it was hard. I dunno. I hate how chapter 3 turned out so I'm probs gonna re-write that and post it with chapter 8. Yay! 2 in 1! Well thanks for the reviews, the bookmarks ,and the kudos! I appreciate all of you!

 “No, fucking way, long nose,” Sanji said as he blew smoke into Usopp’s face. Usopp shrank back from the smog, eyes watering. He glowered at Sanji.

“We all agreed to our own resolution, Sanji! I told you I’d stop telling such outrageous stories to Chopper, and he said he would stop fussing over every small scratch and bruise! You have to, too!” Usopp said with his lip jutted out into an angry pout. Sanji clicked his tongue and turned away. Fuck New Year’s resolutions. He couldn’t give a shit about half-assed goals that necessitated a specific day to start. He had his All Blue, and that was that.

“Sanji-san, please at least try? I, myself, plan to put my best effort forth in not asking to see a woman’s panties the moment I see her!” Brook trilled as he strummed absentmindedly on his guitar.

“What part of “Fuck no” don’t you shitheads understand?” Sanji said. He sucked in another burning breathe of smoke. He let the concoction swirl in his lungs, warmth filling his chest, before blowing the smoke out his nose.

“Sanji! I promise I won’t steal anymore meat between meals for as long as I can manage if you agree!” Luffy shouted from the floor. Sanji looked down at his captain as he tied ribbons on Chopper’s horns.

Robin chuckled from her seat next to Franky. She had agreed to the resolutions. They had all been directed to try the suggestion given by the rest of the crew, and, so far, only Sanji and Zoro seemed to object.

“Zoro, will you at least try to hold back on the liquor consumption?” she asked, eyes looking past the squabbling cook and rubbery captain to the man sitting cross-legged against a wall. He looked up at her and frowned.

“I’m not an alcoholic, and I can stop when I want to. It’s not my fault I have such a high tolerance, besides I’m not doing it if the shitty cook doesn’t,” Zoro said as he shrugged his shoulders. Robin returned to looking at Sanji.

“What about a competition then?” she said. All eyes turned to her direction.

“What are you getting at, Robin?” Nami asked, eyes narrowing as she sensed she had money on the line.

“The one who holds out the longest wins one thousand bellis from each crew member, or in Luffy’s case possibly a week of extra meat, Sanji?” Robin said. Sanji thought about the proposal as he tapped the ash off his cigarette.

“I suppose that would be fine, Robin-chan, but I’m still not participating.”

“Oh, c’mon, Sanji! How long has Chopper been telling you your lungs are dying?” Usopp groaned.

“Sanji, the only reason I haven’t taken your cigarettes away is because of the technique Law and I created to remove the toxic chemicals from the tissue and bronchioles in the lungs. I can’t, however, recover the alveoli. They have—,” Chopper said.

“Yeah, yeah. I know I’m killing myself, and I thank you for prolonging my life, Chopper, but I’ve been smoking since I was eleven. It’s a part of me, ya know?” Sanji interrupted. Chopper sighed.

“Sanji-kun, please? Just try it… for me?” Nami said, sidling over to Sanji and batting her eyelashes at him. He cringed and looked away from her. His face contorted in his effort to ignore Nami’s request. It was against his morals to deny a lady such a simple request, but… but he’d been smoking for so long, he’d gotten used to having a cigarette dangling from his lips, he’d relished in the way nicotine calmed his nerves, and he’d grown used to having the weight of his lighter and pack of smokes in his pocket. It was part of his character, his identity.

“Second-hand smoke leads to lung cancer far more quickly than smoking does, Sanji. You have the filter, but we do not,” Chopper said as Nami gave him a thumbs up behind her back. Sanji’s heart stopped. He knew that it damaged him, and he couldn’t give a fuck, but the rest of the crew? Shit, he hadn’t considered it. He made the mistake of looking back at Nami’s doe eyes, and his gut clenched.

“F-fine. Fine, I’ll try it for you, Nami-san,” Sanji said. He took a final drag on his cigarette before stubbing it out on the bottom of his show and placing the butt in the ashtray on the table. Zoro sat up straighter. He wasn’t expecting the cook to give up smoking. Hell, he couldn’t even picture the chain-smoker without a cigarette.

“Yes! Oh, Sanji, I’m so proud of you!” Chopper squealed as he jumped into Sanji’s arms. Sanji chuckled and patted his hat. Zoro sighed.

“Fuck, so how much sake am I allowed to drink?” Zoro said. Sanji whirled on him.

“If I can’t fucking smoke, then you can’t fucking touch the alcohol supply,” Sanji growled, and Zoro stood to look at eye level with the cook.

“The fuck? No, I’m not an addict like you, chain-smoker. I can control myself,” Zoro spat back. He took a step forward as Sanji bristled at the insult.

“You’re lucky I won’t fillet your ass. I bet I can go cold turkey longer than you, drunk bastard,” Sanji said as he slammed his forehead against Zoro’s. He could feel Zoro’s brow scrunch against his.

“Fat chance, shitty cook,” Zoro said.

“Try me,” Sanji said.

“Alright, so then we all agree to the competition?” Nami said, eyes gleaming at the thought of extra money.

“Hell yeah,” Zoro said. Sanji turned away and nodded.

* * *

 

It was January second when Usopp lost the New Year’s bet. He couldn’t help telling Chopper the story about the time he slayed an army of ten thousand zombie octopuses. He just couldn’t let that chance slip, and, in his book, it was worth it to see Chopper’s face light up happily. Usopp was a bit disappointed. Everyone, even _Luffy_ , had held out longer than him; however, Usopp suspected the only reason Luffy was surviving was because of the constant reminder of how wonderful the reward would taste. Usopp was just a bit upset about losing the reward—just a tad really; however, he was more worried about Sanji. The first day wasn’t _so_ bad. It definitely could have been worse. Maybe.

Sanji had his last cigarette at exactly midnight on New Year’s Eve. Sanji had stubbed out the spent cigarette before handing over his lighter, his matches, and his box of smokes to Chopper. Chopper had put the items in a dark black bag before holding his hoof out expectantly, obviously demanding the hidden stashes of death sticks without having to say a word. Sanji grumbled as he slunk around the galley, picking up the pack from on top of the fridge, behind the fresh china, and under the paprika in the spice drawer.  Chopper nodded, pleased with the obedience before telling Sanji to go collect the rest that he had stored around the ship. Sanji had followed the direction only because Zoro had poked his competitive spirit. Sanji returned around fifteen minutes later with over fifty packs of cigarettes, and that was that.

Usopp hadn’t seen Sanji with a cigarette for the entire two days of competition; however, that didn’t mean the cook was actually managing well. An irritated scowl had made a permanent residence on the cook’s face. Usopp had chosen to stay clear of Sanji during breakfast that morning when Sanji had lashed out at Luffy’s stealing hands more harshly than normal. The captain didn’t notice the change in mistreatment as he shoveled sausages down his throat. After breakfast the crew had been told to meet Chopper in the infirmary, and Usopp knew it was about Sanji’s smoking before he had even stepped inside. Usopp’s guess was correct when Chopper started speaking without the cook present.

“You all know that Sanji’s smoking has been damaging his lungs, but that is just the basis of my analysis. Sanji has been smoking for years, and the damage caused by such extremes is devastating to a normal human; however, with Law’s help, I devised a tissue implantation that, when attached to the lungs, has an outstanding regeneration rate. In simpler terms, it reverses the tissue damage and heals the bronchioles; however, Sanji’s continuous smoking has not allowed the tissue to recover any ground—it has simply been holding off further damage,” Chopper explained to the crew. He had made little diagrams of the lungs and the damage the toxic chemicals had caused Sanji.

“Yeah, so what do we have to do, Chopper?” Luffy asked. It was one of those rare moments that Luffy’s face was serious, brow scrunched and lips drawn into a thin line.

“In the best case scenario: help Sanji quit smoking, period. I would prefer this solution as it would prevent further harm; otherwise, provide Sanji with the necessary distractions and support needed to not smoke for one month,” Chopper said, eyes staring at his nakama passionately. Of course they all agreed to do their best, but Usopp had struggled with thinking of how he could possibly distract the cook any more than cooking or fighting with Zoro did.

Zoro was leaving the infirmary when Chopper called out to him. He turned and saw the little doctor with a grim look on his face, eyes shiny with unshed tears. Zoro immediately scooped him in his arms and sat him on his knee.

“What’s up?” he said.

“I’m afraid, Zoro. I’m very, very afraid. Sanji has been exhibiting many signs of the early stages of lung cancer,” Chopper whispered as he looked at Zoro’s chest. Zoro’s eyes widened.

“What do you mean by that, Chopper? Is he going to…soon?” Zoro said. He wouldn’t say die because the cook couldn’t die. Not yet anyway.

“No. No, he won’t die if he can stop smoking long enough for the implant to repair the damage, but…but, Zoro, you know how he is! I just…” Chopper said, but choked on a sob as he thought of the worst outcome possible: the slow, painful death. Zoro patted his head soothingly.

“Don’t worry, Chopper. I’ll do my best to be the most annoying bastard, so the cook won’t even be able to think of smoking. Besides, this competition is just getting started—have a little more faith,” Zoro said, and Chopper nodded. They both exited the infirmary, and found Luffy, Brook, and Usopp out on the lawn of the Sunny.

* * *

 

Sanji was shaking. He turned his left hand over as he examined the slight vibrations. He didn’t like the way his usually steady hands were suddenly uncontrollable. He shook his head, tongue curling against his bottom lip in search of the ever-present cigarette. He cursed and ran his hand through his hair. He needed a smoke.

Sanji had gotten through the first twenty four hours by cooking bread all day, experimenting with recipes and feeding Luffy the left-overs; however, Sanji couldn’t simply cook all day. He’d use up all their ingredients in two weeks, and he needed to make them last for at least three. Sanji’s tongue poked at his lip again. Sanji sighed and turned to pick up his knives to clean them for the seventh time that day when a loud explosion followed by cracks and bangs sent his body into alertness. Sanji rushed out of the kitchen and slammed the door open.

“Shishishi! Usopp! Let’s do that again!” Luffy yelled from Sanji’s right. Sanji looked over at his captain and met the content obsidian orbs head on. The only odd thing was the way Luffy was plastered to the wall, upside down and spread eagle. Sanji stared blankly at Luffy before shutting the door quietly. His tongue poked out of his lips.

“God damnit, Luffy! What the fuck did you shitheads do this time?” Sanji screamed as he re-slammed the door open only to be met with six pairs of eyes looking up at him from their muddled position on the lawn. There were multiple body-shaped indents on walls, chunks of god-knows-what guts splattered all over the lawn, and the men were positively _covered_ in what looked suspiciously like watermelon, mangos, and oranges. Sanji’s eyes narrowed as his teeth chewed on his bottom lip.

“Uh-uhm…we were just testing the new Melo-I mean…Ball Blaster?” Usopp said. The men sat in a semicircle surrounding a barrel that was encased in metal and had two smaller rounder cases on its sides.

“Yeah, Sanji! It’s SUPER fun, and it packs a wallop, OW!” Franky said. Zoro rolled his eyes.

“What, exactly, are you using for ammunition?” Sanji grit out. He found a huge chunk of watermelon rind on the lawn. If they were wasting food—

“Fruit! The ones that explode the best!” Luffy said. Sanji’s eyebrow twitched.

“I hope you know that for the snack today you’ll all be licking the ground for every last _speck_ of left-over food, and if I so much as find one single watermelon seed, you’ll all be living off sardines and crackers,” Sanji said, glaring daggers. “Am I clear?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” The men said, bolting upright and saluting the cook. Zoro grabbed Luffy by his feet and proceeded to walk the captain around the deck like a wheel-barrow, his rubber tongue lolling out and lapping up the fruity debris.

“Disgusting,” Sanji said, shivering as he watched the deck be steadily cleaned. He winced when he felt his teeth pinch his bottom lip painfully. The taste of copper invaded his mouth, strong and viscous. Well, he’d gone five minutes without the reminder of needing a smoke, but now he was back at square one.

“Hey, dartboard brow! You gonna crack, so I can drink my booze?” Zoro called as he set Luffy upright again. Sanji scowled and ran his tongue over the fresh cut on his lip.

“Screw off, drunkard,” Sanji said and flipped Zoro off before returning to the galley. He wouldn’t lose to the marimo over this. Never.

* * *

 

Sanji had been cooking chili for the past four hours, and he was at his wit’s end. Everything was so damn annoying: his hands were shaking constantly, his liquid measurements were slightly off _every fucking time_ , his clean cuts that made perfect rustic chops of vegetables and meat were slightly too rigid, and he had to pick _eggshells_ out of his cornbread mixture. He hadn’t done that since he was thirteen. His lips were scabbing over—five nicks made his lips tender to heat and tasting his food. Not to mention that Luffy’s intrusions were giving Sanji a massive headache. Sanji was so irritated about his condition that by the time the concoction was set to simmer without needing supervision, and Luffy had ten shoe-print bruises on his face, Sanji had marched right out the galley door, down the stairs, across the lawn, and up near Sunny’s head.

“GRAAAAAH! God, I hate this day!” Sanji screamed, hands planted firmly on the railing as he shouted his annoyance. He huffed and dropped his head to lean on the railing.

“What? Can’t take a little nicotine deprivation?” Zoro said. Sanji knew he was only goading him, but he was too annoyed with how his day was going to really care. Zoro barely had time to draw his swords to block the kick aimed at his chest. He slid back fifteen feet as he glared at the blonde. Sanji tapped the tip of his shoe on the deck before launching into a cartwheel that lead to a handspring to gain momentum for his next attack. Zoro jumped into his space, receiving a knee to the gut in payment for the slap of the blunt side of his katana against Sanji’s chest. They separated and squared off.

Zoro leapt forward first this time, two swords drawn as the cook jumped into the air and spun around, bringing a drop kick down on Zoro’s waiting blade before stomping his other foot down with the intent of smashing the swordsman’s nose but was again blocked. Sanji was pushed up in the air before Zoro leapt up to meet him. Sanji twisted and maneuvered his body away from the midair slices while aiming kicks that were blocked by Zoro. They landed and immediately were locked in a tense stare off as shoe pushed against steel.

“Don’t test me today, stupid swordsman,” Sanji hissed. Zoro scoffed and shoved him away.

“I know you’re better than this, stupid cook,” he replied. Sanji’s hackles rose, and his scabs protested angrily.

“Fuck you. How would you know what I’m capable of, shithead?” Sanji grumbled. He crossed his arms with a huff, and a hand snaked its way up to his lips to rub them unconciously. Zoro raised an eyebrow.

“I know that you’ve never gone a day without at least smoking one cig—even with Chopper’s nagging. I know you feel off without a smoke hanging out of your mouth like a stupid fish on a hook,” Zoro said, pointing to the corner of his mouth.

“Screw off, bastard!” Sanji interjected.

“I know you wouldn’t dare smoke in the kitchen because it ruins the food or some shit. I know you cover the residual smell of chemicals and food with flowery shampoos and whatever that sickly smelling shit you use in the bathroom is, but you know that the smell still clings to you. I know you chew on the filter when you’re thinking, and you roll the thing around when you’re bored. I know you wouldn’t let a fucking pack of death sticks control your life. But I guess I was wrong about that part because now you’re just letting it overtake your oh-so-charming personality,” Zoro said as he brushed past Sanji’s stunned figure. Zoro felt the hand grip his elbow and stopped his exit.

“How did you…?” Sanji faltered and his visible eyebrow scrunched up in surprised confusion.

“Because I’m not as stupid as you think I am, and I do give a fuck about your prissy ass,” Zoro said. He hoped that the insults would help blot out the actual sentiment behind that statement, but his hope was probably in vain because Sanji’s face still looked astonished and confused. They stayed like that for what seemed like forever—just looking into each other’s faces as they scramble to find answers. Sanji straightened and let his hand fall to his side.

“Well…thanks? I guess,” Sanji said and walked past Zoro, down the steps, across the lawn, and back up into the confines of his galley. Zoro swallowed and returned to his spot on the lawn. He could use some sake right now.

Sanji took the lid off his chili, mind still reeling, and tasted it. Paprika and red cayenne pepper assaulted his taste buds, and the meat and beans made him stop chewing. He swallowed and looked at his tasting spoon in horror. This wasn’t how the recipe tasted when he made it a month ago. Hell, it never tasted like this when he made it before. Sanji threw the spoon into the sink and rushed outside. He looked around the deck and spotted Usopp descending the stairs to the lawn. Without hesitation, he grabbed the sniper and dragged him into the galley, spooned out a dollop of chili and shoved it into Usopp’s face. Usopp glanced up at him with wide eyes.

“S-Sanji? What’s wrong?” Usopp said. His mind raced with ideas of possible poisoning for punishment and other crazy theories of why Sanji was asking him to taste his stew or soup or whatever it was he was making.

“Just shut up and try the damn thing, Usopp,” Sanji demanded. Usopp did just that. He let the heavenly mixture rest on his taste buds as he thought about the familiar flavors.

“Well?” Sanji asked expectantly. Usopp swallowed.

“It tastes just as great as it did the last time you made it, Sanji. Nothing’s off or anything,” Usopp said warily. Sanji blinked before shoving another tasting spoon in the chili and tasting it again himself. His face bunched in concentration. Sanji suddenly whirled around, dragging Usopp out of the galley and rushing off. Usopp cocked his head as he watched Sanji disappear into the med bay. He shrugged and continued on his way to find Luffy.

* * *

 

“What do you mean my sense of taste is returning to normal?” Sanji practically screeched at the little doctor. Chopper smiled wearily back.

“Sanji, as a result of smoking so much, your sense of taste and smell have gradually been declining in effectiveness. As a result of not smoking, they are returning to normal, so you may experience certain scents and flavors that seem especially strong as your mouth and nose reacclimatize to having full sensory function,” Chopper said. Sanji sighed through his nose. This day was just going from bad to worse.

Sanji remembered Zeff saying when he started smoking that his palate would be affected. Sanji hated when the old man was right, and that was still far too often for his liking. Sanji patted Chopper on the head before returning once again to his galley.

Chopper waited twenty five seconds before rushing out onto the deck and jumping into Zoro’s arms. The swordsman had been getting ready to go train when he had been ambushed by the little reindeer.

“Sanji’s senses are returning to normal! Zoro, this is good progress! That means the tissue is starting to repair everything!” Chopper smiled widely as fat tears pooled at the edges of his eyes. Zoro smiled before rubbing Chopper’s hat roughly.

“That’s great, Chopper. Nice job,” Zoro said.

* * *

 

 Dinner was eventful for Sanji. The paprika, peppers, and fresh meat in the chili were the most noticeable in the dish. Sanji chewed thoughtfully on the cornbread as he tasted the sugar and flour he used. His lemonade was more acidic than he was used to, and his nose scrunched every time he drank it. Sanji hoped he would be more acquainted with his senses the next day. His food was still good, but it just tasted wrong in his mouth. It wasn’t familiar.

Zoro stayed to help wash the dishes, and the two stood in a companionable silence as they rhythmical washed and dried the porcelain.

“What did you think of the chili, marimo?” Sanji asked, breaking the silence. Zoro glanced at the cook out of the corner of his eye, but couldn’t make out any distinct facial expression behind the curtain of hair.

“It was the same as usual,” Zoro said.

“Good,” Sanji replied. Silence fell over the pair once again, and Zoro rolled his shoulders, brushing against Sanji’s for the slightest instant. Sanji peaked at Zoro from behind his bangs before setting his jaw, placing the dish he was washing into the soapy water, and leaning his forehead against Zoro’s shoulder. Zoro stiffened immediately and strained to see what the cook was doing.

“Hey, hey, shit cook, what are you—,” Zoro began, but Sanji stopped him.

“You smell like steel, and oil, and grass. You smell like the sea breeze and sage,” Sanji said. Zoro looked down at the cook’s bent figure, eyes following the flickers of light shining on the cook’s golden hair. The strands shifted slightly as they adjusted to the new angle at which they rested. They tickled Zoro’s neck and he could feel the light weight of them against his shirt. He bent his own head to Sanji’s. He inhaled deeply.

“Yeah? And you smell like spices, honey, lavender soap, and smoke. Less like smoke than yesterday though,” Zoro said as he let his head rest against Sanji’s. He relaxed and closed his eyes as he breathed in the familiar smells. He liked how the cook smelled, despite his complaints about the girly hair products. The scents blended with the cook’s natural musk and reminded him of the dojo that he had called home. It was a soothing scent. They stayed like that for so long that the blurry edges of sleep pricked at Zoro’s closed eyes.

“Always thought you smelled like sweat and blood,” Sanji said. Zoro hummed in question.

“Really? I always thought you smelled like burnt flower fields,” Zoro replied sleepily. Sanji chuckled, and he most certainly did not nuzzle closer to the swordsman.

“Alright, enough sniffing, you dumb dog, or do you need a belly rub?” Sanji said, pulling away and bumping Zoro’s shoulder with his. Zoro glowered.

“I hate your mood swings.”

“I hate your face.”

“Drop dead.”

“That sounds really fun, but I’m gonna be busy not doing that.”

“Ugh, I can’t stand you. Just give me that damn dish already.”

Sanji made it through his second day without cigarettes no problem.

* * *

 

He really wanted a smoke. Just one little cigarette and his nerves would calm down. Everything would be peachy. His hands would stop shaking, his palate would be normal, and his nose would calm down. All he needed was a cigarette, and he wouldn’t be so jittery. Fuck, he needed a smoke.

Zoro stood at the counter as he watched to cook almost maniacally storm about the kitchen prepping to make barbecued dishes out of the sea-pig Luffy and Brook had defeated that morning. Zoro was worried about the cook. Sure, he worried about Luffy and Chopper falling into the ocean more than twice a day, or that Usopp would blow his nose off with one of his contraptions, but worried about the cook? He’d never been worried about the cook. Until now that is.

Sanji had been searching for his vinegar to make the barbecue sauce for over five minutes. It was sitting out on the counter with the rest of the ingredients. Before Sanji had started looking for the vinegar, he’d been trying to find the right sized bowl for about three minutes. If that in and of itself wasn’t alarming to Zoro he didn’t know what was.

“Gah! Zoro! When did you get in here?” Sanji startled as he looked into Zoro’s dark eyes. Zoro blinked as Sanji muttered “Ah, there you are, shitty vinegar,” before completely disregarding Zoro again. Scratch that last thought—this was way more concerning than misplaced objects. Sanji was always aware of who was in his kitchen space and who was around him. Zoro could never sneak up on the cook to try to cram an egg or some disgusting goo in the blond hair. He’d lost way too much money to Nami on bets involving invading the cook’s space.

“Hey, shit cook, what’s up with you?” Zoro said.

“Huh? What, Zoro? You’re here? Oh, right,” Sanji turned and rolled his eyes at the fact that he’d forgotten he’d just looked at Zoro.

“Cook, what’s wrong with your head today? You’re dumber than usual.”

“Hah? Fuck you, shithead. Nothing’s wrong with me. I’m just a little scatterbrained today is all,” Sanji said with a dismissive wave of his hand. He spooned in brown sugar and onion powder into a bowl. He sighed and grabbed the bottle of ketchup.

“You already added that, curly,” Zoro said, eyebrows raising in both concern and surprise. Sanji looked at the bottle and the bowl before cursing and slamming the bottle down on the counter. He ground the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Sanji hissed, and his shoulders slumped in frustration.

Zoro didn’t know what to do. Usually he’d have been kicked out of the kitchen by now, but Sanji was definitely struggling with more than he let on. Zoro knew how to deal with an angry Sanji. That was easy—swing a few swords at him, and he’d fight back till his temper had had enough. Zoro knew how to deal with a pigheaded upset Sanji—avoid him for a bit and let him cool off. Zoro knew how to fight with Sanji at his back. But a discouraged Sanji had never made an appearance before, and Zoro was drawing a blank.

“I need a smoke,” Sanji said. Zoro blinked. Oh. Well, duh—that’s what the problem was.

“Giving up already, smokestack?” Zoro said. He really hoped this worked. Sanji whirled on him.

“If it’s affecting my fucking _cooking_ , then yes, I’d rather lose to you than disgrace myself.”

“Well, then just do it. Go in and whine in front of Chopper. He’ll cave,” Zoro shrugged.

“For your information, I do have some pride—thank you very much,” Sanji growled as his teeth worried his lower lip. Zoro rolled his eyes.

“Then let me help.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“What?” Sanji finally asked, eyes blown wide.

“You deaf as well as stupid? I said let me help,” Zoro said.

“…”

“…”

“…”

“Alright, shit-for-brains, you could have just said no. I’m outta here,” Zoro said. He was done with Sanji staring at him like he’d grown three heads. That’s what he gets when he tries to be nice. The hand that grabbed his haramaki stopped him in his tracks. He looked over his shoulder and swallowed.

“I never said no. Just… just don’t screw up my kitchen and do _exactly_ what I tell you. Got it?” Sanji said. His ears were red, and he wouldn’t meet Zoro’s gaze. Zoro’s stomach flipped over. He blamed it on not having any sake for the past three days.

“Wash your hands,” Sanji said and sighed, “With soap, you Neanderthal.”

And that was how they continued on. Sanji leaned against the countertop as he watched Zoro whisk and cut and dice. Sanji only took a bowl out of Zoro’s hands for about five seconds to show him a more complicated step when needed. Sanji insulted Zoro, and Zoro insulted Sanji. It was how they worked. Sometime around when Zoro had started slicing meat off the remaining bones, Zoro had shoved a lollipop into Sanji’s mouth. Sanji rolled the surprisingly tasteless treat around with his tongue as Zoro simply turned away grumbling something about “shutting his trap.” Sanji did. He relaxed with something dangling from his lips with a weight similar to a cigarette.

Zoro wasn’t as stupendously stupid when cooking as Sanji had originally thought. Zoro knew exactly where to cut the meat from the fat and from the bone. He was a swordsman after all, and the clean cut meat rivalled Sanji’s own. Besides being an excellent butcher, Zoro paid close attention to detail, and even with his slightly clumsy movements, he never diverged from Sanji’s instructions. Zoro’s hands were steady and strong—almost confident but still lacking the familiar movements. Sanji smirked around his second lollipop when Zoro wiped his hand across his forehead, leaving a trail of barbecue sauce in its wake.

“Stupid swordsman, come here,” Sanji said. Zoro scowled but looked at Sanji. Sanji plucked the lollipop from his mouth and swiped his pointer finger across the thick line on Zoro’s forehead. He popped the digit into his mouth and licked it clean.

“You don’t need to put on war paint—no matter how primitive your species is,” Sanji smirked as he replaced the hard candy in his mouth. Zoro looked at him with his eyes narrowed before grabbing the sauce brush and swiping it across Sanji’s cheek and nose.

The cook squawked before rubbing the thoroughly squeezed lemon rind on Zoro’s nose.

“Fuck! Shit cook, that’s—ow—playing dirty!” Zoro said as his eyes watered at the sting. Sanji laughed at Zoro’s red face.

“You need more training, mosshead.”

“I hate you sometimes, you know that?” Zoro said. He blinked rapidly before glaring at the cook with red eyes. Sanji’s face split in two, lollipop stick caught between his teeth and sauce still covering his pale skin. Zoro paused and stared. Sanji spared the genuine smiles for the ladies and for Luffy when the two would talk about the food Sanji would make him when they found All Blue. It was rare, and Zoro had only ever caught glimpses of the way Sanji’s nose crinkled, and his eye narrowed so the blue iris was barely visible behind long pale lashes. Zoro was floored.

“Okay, let’s get this food outside, so I can slow roast it before Luffy attacks us,” Sanji said. He balanced over half of the meat as he made his way out the galley door with Zoro on his tail. The two set the meat in the roasting facility Franky had installed upon Sanji’s request, and Zoro returned to the crow’s nest to do his weight lifting. Sanji sighed, content that his meal was done; however, without Zoro’s distractions, the nicotine mantra began again.

* * *

 

He’d gone to Franky. He’d gone to Brook. He’d gone to Chopper, Usopp, and Luffy. He’d gone to his lovely ladies. Sanji had relapsed into his nicotine-focused state as soon as Zoro had left his side. Nothing was working. Everything was so dull in comparison to the constant nagging of “I need a smoke. I just need one gulp of nicotine and I won’t need anything else. I need a smoke.”

Sanji growled angrily at himself. Was he really this lacking in self-control? That stupid marimo had boundless restraint. Couldn’t he just snatch some off him? He was frustrated.

Zoro snickered from his position on the bench as his breathing returned to normal. He wiped his face with a towel as he watched the cook scrub at his hair one final time before kicking his shoes off, unbuttoning his jacket, and rolling both his pant-legs and his shirtsleeves up. Zoro’s interest heightened. He’d never seen the cook do that before. He let his muscles relax as the exhausted burn from his workout started to fade.

Sanji was done with this horrible day. He’d felt a nicotine craving for what seemed like every hour—except for when he was bickering with Zoro, but he disregarded that fact—and he was fed up. He needed to clear his head, and besides cooking, Sanji knew only one other way. Zeff had taught him when he was young how to harness his emotions and shove them to the back of his mind. Yes, Sanji also knew how to meditate, but unlike the muscle-headed idiot, Sanji only relied on this technique when he was stressed beyond belief. He always did his morning stretches and core exercises, but they were nothing compared to this. He did it after his nightmares, after a particular battle royale where he thought he’d never see someone again, after his anger had surged enough that he had kicked Luffy off the ship on more than one occasion, and now it seemed after he admitted that he had a problem involving nicotine.

Sanji stood in the middle of the lawn—it was for once clear of people who were creating mischief only-god-knows-where. He looked out at the peaceful sea and steadied his breathing. His expression relaxed as he focused on the calm blue hues of the water. Felt his blood rushing through his body like a river, his heartbeat thrumming rhythmically like a drum, and his hair fluttering slightly from the easy breeze. Sanji let his body take over as he moved with practiced ease.

His arms lifted parallel to the ground, his right leg lunged forward and he fell forward, landing on his hands and bringing his legs close to his chest and breathing. He stayed like that for an agonizing amount of time, curled in a ball and balanced on his hands. He extended his legs skyward slowly, sea waves crashing behind his now closed eyes. He listened to the sound of the boat, laughter mingling with waves, as he brought one hand up to be once again parallel with the ground. Sanji let his legs bend backwards in a sinful arch as he replaced his hand on the ground and pushed his head away from the grass. He sprung back to his starting position and brought his leg up in a swift roundhouse kick. And another. And another. Until he was spinning in circles, kick after practiced kick flowing into the next, mind relaxing and focusing on nothing else but the waves behind his eyes.

Zoro was entranced by the cook’s movements. His usual ferocity and bloodlust was gone from the movements Zoro knew all too well. Sanji was all silken grace and fluid lines. Zoro could see himself down beside the cook, trading blows, blocks, and parries. He could see the dance that only they would know, could hear the music of singing blades and pounding feet, could feel the wind ghosting across his skin as he gazed into blue eyes that resembled the churning sea and touched pale skin and smelled the aroma of spices and honey and lavender that he lov—whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa. What the hell? Zoro was fine with the images of fighting the cook but the rest? Where had that come from? Zoro brushed it off as lack of sake. Zoro glanced back down at the cook who stood frozen in place as he stared at the sea. Zoro wondered if the cook’s eye reflected the tranquil waters that he gazed at.

* * *

 

As the days stretched on, Sanji grew more aware of when his nicotine spells—as he liked to call them—would occur: after breakfast around eleven, at around three in the afternoon, at four thirty before dinner, and before bed at around ten. Three out of the four were easily ignored with either banter between him and Zoro or sparring matches. The last was always the worst because it was too late for a brawl and Zoro was either training one last time, sleeping, or on watch. Sanji performed his ritual more often than he normally did, finishing in a peaceful trance that lulled him into sleepless nights.

Robin had admitted her loss in the resolution competition, Franky had lost in the next day, and Luffy had cracked no less than two minutes after the cyborg; Sanji had never had to fight Luffy off the food as hard as he did that day. Only Nami, Zoro, Brook, Chopper, and Sanji remained.

It was January tenth when a fleet of marines attacked them. Sanji practically skipped around the deck, kicking at marines left and right. This was the stress reliever he’d needed! This adrenaline rush was what he’d been craving. A lull in the marines in Sanji’s area let him relax enough to unwrap another lollipop and stick it in his mouth. He’d constantly had the tasteless suckers as a substitute for fiddling with a cigarette. He liked the weight the candy had. He liked not having scabbed lips either. Sanji jumped down to the deck below and started spinning away, launching two marines overboard. He swallowed. Well, maybe having one of these candies in his mouth during battles wasn’t such a good idea—too much saliva and he’d look like an English bulldog for crying out loud.

Sanji felt like he had more stamina during this battle—not that he wouldn’t have been able to handle the weaklings before he stopped smoking. He wasn’t as short of breathe as he had been in the month before, his muscles didn’t ache as much, his kicks felt more powerful, and his steps felt lighter.

Maybe, just maybe, this resolution had been worth it after all.

* * *

 

Sanji had felt less irritable lately. He’d been sleeping better, exercising more in the mornings than he usually did, and his scatterbrained tendencies had started to fade. Zoro still came and helped him cook occasionally, cutting meat and slicing produce like nobody’s business. Sanji didn’t mind the marimo’s company as much as he had before. Sure, they still fought and bickered like cats and dogs, but the arguments and brawls didn’t feel as hostile. It was almost playful, Sanji reasoned.

The next island they came upon was relatively normal—to the disappointment of their company. There was a small village surrounding the ports and a forest stretched up two tall mountains and framed a valley with a river running through it. It was peaceful and a nice change of pace. Brook easily lost the bet when he ventured out into town with Franky—only four remained.

Sanji sighed happily as he made his way through the town’s market. The smell of fresh fish, exotic fruit, and other spices mingled in the air. He felt the weight of the pouch filled with belli in his pocket bounce lightly. He stopped and looked over his shoulder.

“Hey, stupid swordsman, hurry up. I don’t need your directionally-impaired ass wondering off,” Sanji called. Zoro glared at him as he turned away from the tavern sign and marched towards the cook.

Zoro’s hackles rose as he met Sanji’s amused smirk. “I don’t get lost.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure you don’t. Ah! Hey, what’s the price of this dragon fruit?” Zoro huffed as Sanji returned to buying food. They’d been shopping for over two hours, wandering from stall to stall, and he had to carry all the stuff that wasn’t going to be transported to the ship. Zoro sighed through his nose as he looked around at the townsfolk. Everyone was so plain, so boring. He just wanted to head back to the ship and either train or nap.

“Marimo, if you come along nicely, we’ll have time to stop by a tavern—oh wait, if we do that, I’ll win the bet!” Sanji said, face lighting up in fake surprise. Zoro grumbled. Maybe that was his issue lately, he hadn’t had any sake for almost four weeks. It wasn’t like he couldn’t go without it—he just missed it was all. He rammed his shoulder into the cook’s and tugged the lollipop stick out of his mouth.

“Nah, I’m good. You won’t get me that easily, stupid cook,” Zoro said, sticking the lollipop in his mouth and walking ahead. He scrunched his nose up in disgust. Zoro didn’t like sweet things, and although the candy had barely any taste, he could detect the sugar suddenly invading his mouth. Sanji watched Zoro walk away mildly appalled and equally astonished. That was the same as an indirect kiss! Holy shit, why was he so amped up about that? Sanji just shook his head. It was probably just his nerves.

* * *

 

Zoro knew he’d fucked up the moment he’d said the words. He’d seen the way Sanji’s face had paled, and his hands had balled into tight fists. The cook’s eye had lost all warmth, and the usually rolling waves of blue had turned into steely grey whirlpools. Zoro swallowed but held his stance, and Sanji looked away from him, face hidden from view by the curtain of hair.

“You know what? I don’t need this today,” Sanji said before stalking off back to the galley. Zoro growled. He hadn’t thought the cook would be so angry.

_“I hate you. Leave me alone.”_

He’d said that so many times before. He’d thought the cook would spit fire right back at him. He sighed and grabbed his swords. Let the cook cool off and everything would hopefully be okay.

Except it wasn’t.

Sanji wouldn’t look at Zoro during dinner, didn’t want his help cleaning up, and slid into his hammock without having said one word to Zoro since that afternoon. Sanji was reeling. How dare that stupid swordsman say that he hated him? How foolish could he have been to think that…that they had started to become friends? Sanji grimaced as he tried to curl farther inside his hammock.

That morning his cravings for a cigarette hit him so strongly, it was like being back at square one. He wouldn’t go to the stupid swordsman this time though. Or the next time. Or the next time. Sanji was falling apart at the seams. His little meditation sessions only staved off the cravings for ten minutes, if that. Sanji had retreated to the little space hidden inside Nami’s tangerine grove. He stared up at the blue sky through the foliage.

His mind drifted between daydreams—in a sparse moment of peace. He saw Luffy and Usopp fishing, guffawing as Chopper excitedly hopped around reenacting one of Usopp’s stories. He saw Nami and Robin relaxing in lawn chairs as Franky and Brooke stole fleeting glances. And then he saw Zoro. Zoro sleeping in the shade. Zoro with concentration etched onto his face during training. Zoro with his old bandana tied around his head. Zoro growling at someone with insults fresh on his tongue. Zoro covered in blood and scars and still smirking like a triumphant bastard. Zoro laughing with Luffy. Zoro shoveling onigiri into his mouth.

_“I hate you.”_

The phrase rocked Sanji to the bone, and he stiffened. He felt his face heat in anger, and his brain cried once again for a smoke. Shitty swordsman…why did it matter so much now? He’d always said he hated him, so why—oh. Sanji felt his eyes prickle traitorously and he rubbed the heels of his palms at them, teeth gnashed together.

“I don’t hate you, stupid marimo.”

Sanji needed a smoke. Bad.

* * *

 

Chopper was worried. Sanji had seemingly regressed in terms of his cessation symptoms. Chopper watched the cook bustle about the kitchen, looking for ingredients he already had used or had gotten out. His hands shook ferociously, the usual speed of the cuts Sanji made had slowed and were slightly uneven. Sanji was grumbling and sighing angrily. Chopper watched his nakama struggle, and he blinked. What had happened?

“Marines! Marines!” Usopp shrieked, and Sanji immediately turned the heat on the stove to low. He placed all perishables in the fridge and marched out behind Chopper. His gaze was set on the approaching marine ships, two of them to be exact. Sanji’s lips quirked. He’d been needing a good fight. He was antsy and agitated.

“Gomu Gomu no—!” Luffy cried swinging his fist about. Sanji jumped down and wrapped an arm around his captain’s shoulders, and he was shortly followed by Zoro. Sanji stiffened in` the man’s presence.

“ROCKET!” Luffy shouted as he launched his hand towards a ship and latched on. The three snapped towards the ship, and Sanji had enough foresight to vault himself off Luffy and onto the main deck before the other idiots blasted through the ship’s wall. Sanji crouched on the wooden deck before standing and brushing off his suit. He looked lazily around at the large circle of marines. He sighed and widened his stance, hands shoved in his pockets. The ship shuddered as loud crashes resonated from the below the deck.

“Well, shall we get on with it?” Sanji said.

* * *

 

Sanji leaned against the railing of the Sunny as he watched clouds of smoke and debris engulf the remaining marine ship. He’d returned after handling most of the marines on the first ship and leaving the other ship for the two imbeciles that had joined him. It was warm out as he watched the marine ship slowly sink. His side hurt from where a marine got a good swing in with a hammer. It was just a flesh wound, nothing more than a bruise. Sanji felt the sea spray against his legs and lower back. It was warm. A little too warm for his liking, but he stayed. A rubber hand latched on to the railing and soon two bodies were strewn in a heap on the deck beside him.

“Sanji! When’s lunch? I’m starving!” Luffy laughed, disentangling himself from the stupid marimo. Sanji sighed and took the cigarette from his mouth. He blew out a calming breathe of smoke before leveling his captain with his gaze.

“Fifteen minutes.”

“Yahoo! Usopp! I found something interesting on that marine ship!” Luffy exclaimed before bouncing off to find the sniper. Sanji replaced the cigarette between his lips and looked at the now approaching swordsman.

“Hey, cook,” Zoro said as he stopped a foot away from Sanji. His face was twisted in an unreadable emotion. Disgust? Contempt?

“Cook!” Zoro said again, stepping closer. Sanji puffed around his cigarette as a rough hand grasped at his cheek. He glared. The sea spray felt heavy and sticky against his back.

Sanji took the cigarette from his lips and blew smoke into the swordsman’s face. Little red splotches appeared on Zoro’s cheek and chin. What were those?

“C’mon, cook. Keep looking at me,” Zoro said. His face scrunched more, and Sanji grimaced. He felt the heat of the cigarette in his hand, the sea spray against his back, the throbbing from the hammer wound in his side. Everything was too damn hot, except for Zoro’s hand. Sanji brought the cigarette back to his lips and sucked in the smoke. It felt so good to have the chemicals mixing in his lungs again. God, he hadn’t had one of these in ages.

That’s right—he hadn’t. So, why—Sanji’s vision blurred, and he blinked furiously. His side throbbed. The world shifted, and he was no longer standing. Sanji sucked in a painful breathe of air as he felt the sea spray turn into a thick puddle under his lower back. Zoro’s face remained in his vision, chin and cheek speckled with red like speckled eggs. Sanji coughed. The taste of copper filled his mouth, and his throat constricted around a blob of something slimy. He coughed viscously—side crying out in protest. Sanji spat a large red glob onto the deck with a sickening splat. His vision blurred again. Was that his lung? Why did everything hurt so suddenly? God, he wanted another smoke. Where was his lighter again? He could’ve sworn he just had it.

“No, c’mon, cook. Keep looking at me. Chopper’s almost here. C’mon,” Zoro’s face swam back into focus. Sanji licked his lips, mouth feeling like cotton. Oh, so that’s what it was. Zoro was worried. Huh, he’d not seen that expression directed at him before. Maybe Zoro knew where his lighter was.

“Cook!” Sanji heard Zoro’s voice say one last time before he drifted off seeking the soothing comforts of a cigarette.

* * *

 

When Sanji had come to in the infirmary, side stitched up and head pounding, his first instinct was to have a cigarette. Funny thing was, he still wouldn’t allow himself to. He’d remembered that “sorta alternate universe” he had been drifting in as he lay bleeding out on a marine deck. He remembered the imaginary cigarette—and Zoro, but that didn’t matter.

“Sanji, I think I want you to start wearing these nicotine patches. Your cessation symptoms have returned twice as strong and it’s sapping your concentration and awareness,” Chopper said. Sanji sighed.

“No, Chopper. I have a bet with the stupid marimo. Get him to quit cold turkey first, and I’ll take the patches,” Sanji replied as he headed for the door. He’d been out for three days. He needed real food.

“But Sanji—!” Chopper began, but the snap of the door cut him off. He sighed. Whatever happened between Sanji and Zoro had been bad.

Chopper flinched as he heard screams echo into his office.

“Get the FUCK out of my kitchen, shithead!” Sanji glowered as he marched over to Zoro. He was cutting fruit and vegetables for what seemed like dinner. Zoro looked over his shoulder at the fuming chef and sighed.

“I’m helping out. Your injured, stupid curlybrow.”

“I don’t want your help! Now get OUT!”

“Your guts nearly spilled out a couple days ago!”

“Yes, and?”

“And you’re nakama. I’m not letting you rip your stitches open and bleed out on your galley’s floor!”

“Even though you hate me?”

“Cook, I didn’t—” Zoro said.

“You made your point perfectly clear, so just act like you normally do. I don’t want your sympathy,” Sanji hissed.

“Cook, I made a mistake,” Zoro said.

“Yeah, you did—when you walked into MY kitchen. Now, get out! I don’t want to see your ugly mug!”

“Fine,” Zoro said through gritted teeth as he walked out of the galley. Sanji flinched as the hinges creaked from the force that Zoro slammed the door with.

* * *

 

Nami watched as Zoro stalked away from the galley, steam practically rising off his green head. She smirked and turned to Robin.

“I bet you one hundred belli that Zoro’s not going to show up to dinner tonight,” she said smirking over the railing. Robin chuckled from behind her book.

“I believe you just lost the New Year’s bet, Nami,” Robin replied. Nami stiffened and groaned. Damn, all that extra money—gone! Ah, sweet temptation—how cruel! She sighed and returned to her seat. Chopper appeared moments later and grabbed Nami’s hand.

“Nami! You’ve got a splinter in your thumb! What if it gets infected?” Chopper said and examined the wound.

“Chopper, I didn’t call you up here to fuss over my petty injuries, which by the way you still need to chill out on. Even though you lost the bet doesn’t mean you’re free, got that?” Nami said. She recalled the excess supplies that needed to be bought when Chopper was extra fussy.

“Yes, Nami,” Chopper sighed. After extracting the splinter, Chopper answered Nami’s questions about Sanji’s wound. Although it was rather deep, it was clean and should heal quickly.

“Hey, shitheads! Dinner!” Sanji yelled. Nami smiled. The cook seemed to be almost back to normal already.

* * *

 

Sanji woke sweating, gasping, and starving. It was the fifth night in a row. Every time he closed his eyes he saw that rock, and the emptiness that ate at a person from the inside-out haunted his mind. Sanji bolted for the door and rushed to the galley. He shoved whatever he could down his throat and gulped down plenty of wine. Sanji slumped against the cabinet, exhausted. He hadn’t been able to sleep for more than two hours a night. His meditation sessions had stopped helping after the second night. It wasn’t worth trying it anymore. It was tedious and awful. Sanji had no energy and everything sucked and he wanted a cigarette.

Every time Sanji had the nightmares, he’d eat and then smoke. His nerves would calm down and he’d be able to go back to bed. Now, Sanji suffered through sleepless nights, full of nicotine spells. He hated this. He was miserable. He needed a smoke.

Zoro sighed and walked out on deck. He’d heard the cook rush from the room every night, and it was bothering him to no end. What happened? What was going on? Zoro hadn’t pursued it because of what the cook had said in the galley, but he couldn’t stand it anymore.

He waited in the cool night air for the cook to reemerge from the galley. It was near dawn when the bastard did, and the cook promptly went about ignoring him. Zoro growled and stepped in front of the cook.

“What do you want, asshole?” Sanji said. His eye was red rimmed and sunken.

“You know what I want, shit cook,” Zoro said.

“There’s nothing wrong,” Sanji said, and looked away. Zoro growled.

“Oh, of course not. That’s why you’ve been up every night for practically a week.”

“Just fuck off, would you?”

“No, I won’t ‘just fuck off.’”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because I care!” Zoro said. Sanji froze looking at the deck. His blood was rushing in his ears.

“I care, shit cook. I-I know I said some stuff, but I didn’t mean it. I really didn’t. I just thought it was normal, ya know? Part of who we are. But it’s different now because I don’t hate you, dammit,” Zoro said, grabbing Sanji’s chin and forcing him to look at him.

“I… I don’t hate you either,” Sanji managed, and he broke. He let Zoro’s solid form take the brunt of his exhaustion as he leaned into him. He buried his face into the white shirt. One hand wrapped around Zoro’s waist and pulled their bodies flush against each other while Zoro’s hand wrapped around Sanji’s free one and squeezed.

“Good. Now what is wrong with you?”

“I have these nightmares—memories, really. I’m back to when I was nine, stranded on a deserted, barren rock. I was starving. I was dying—and, and Zeff. He was there too. I just—it gnaws at me, Zoro,” Sanji said. Zoro buried his nose into the silky blonde strands, messy from restless slumber and running anxious hands through it.

“The guilt,” Sanji shuddered. “Zeff gave up his dream, his weapons, his means of reaching All Blue and traveling the Grand Line for _me_ , so a shitty eggplant could live,” Sanji said. Zoro knew the gist of Sanji’s story from the others, but the revelation that the old chef, Zoro remembered seeing him, did almost the unthinkable for a strange little boy was mind-blowing.

“Ya know, your old man probably doesn’t see it that way; after all, he taught you how to cook and fight. Hell, cook, he raised you so you could complete his dream and your own,” Zoro said, and he felt Sanji starting to relax in his hold. “Because you’re happiness is his dream,” Zoro said.

They didn’t talk on their way back to the bunks. They didn’t speak or make a noise when both of them crawled into Zoro’s bunk. Zoro didn’t complain when Sanji’s ice cold feet pressed against his shins. Sanji didn’t protest when Zoro wrapped him in his arms once again. The only noises they made were groans of discomfort when Luffy woke them up demanding breakfast—even then, no words were spoken because they didn’t need to be.

* * *

 

“C’mon, shitty swordsman. I bought this just for you!”

“And I said I won’t let you beat me that easily, dartboard brow!”

The two had been going at it since Sanji had arrived back aboard the Sunny from retrieving supplies from the local market. It had almost been one whole _year_ since the New Year’s Resolution Bet had begun, and Christmas was right around the corner. Sanji had been trying to win the bet for ages, but convincing a stubborn marimo was proving difficult.

Sanji had not relapsed into the cessation cravings for over three months. He felt good, but he wanted to prove to the marimo that he was better than him. Sanji would never admit that Zoro was the one who got him through his withdrawal symptoms—twice. Zoro had shared his time, his abilities, and even his bunk with the cook for almost the entire competition. Sanji didn’t mind—in fact, he preferred it that way—but this was the last straw because he still wanted to win.

“Fine, you, ungrateful bastard! Have it your way!” Sanji said before uncorking the sake bottle and gulping down a large swig. Zoro’s eyes followed the bob of Sanji’s Adam’s apple as he swallowed the liquor. Zoro licked his lips unconsciously. Sanji glanced at Zoro and smirked—a wicked idea forming. He took another drink and held the liquid in his mouth before grabbing a fistful of Zoro’s shirt and pulling the marimo forward.

“Fuck! Shit cook, wha—!” Zoro yelped as his lips smashed against Sanji’s. Sanji took the opportunity to force his tongue into Zoro’s open mouth, quickly molding their lips together and refusing to part until all of the alcohol was swallowed by either one of them. A small trickle ran down Sanji’s chin, and drops caught on his stubble. Sanji smirked down at Zoro’s wide-eyed expression.

“I win,” Sanji whispered, leaning in close and smirking. Zoro blinked and regained his composure before grabbing Sanji’s neck and pulling him back in. Zoro practically chased the remaining taste of sake down Sanji’s throat before pulling away. Both were breathless. They looked at each other and breathed for a moment before chuckling quietly.

“Hey, cook?” Zoro said.

“Hm?”

“I don’t hate you.”

“Aw, Snoochy-Poo! How sweet.” Sanji said, clasping his hands and pursing his lips. Zoro grimaced.

“Way to ruin the moment, dickhead.”

“My pleasure, asshat.”

“Have I forgotten to mention I don’t like you?” Zoro smirked, lacing his fingers through Sanji’s.

“Hm? No, and I don’t like you either.” Sanji said, pressing their foreheads together.

“I know, shit cook.”

“Hey, marimo?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up,” Sanji said and kissed Zoro again.


	8. Dance With Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So here's another chapter within a month woot-woot! Anyway, I HAVE ALSO REWRITTEN CHAPTER THREE. ITS TOTALLY NEW SO GO CHECK IT OUT, I HOPE IT'S BETTER. Enjoy this two for one deal thingy!

Zoro loved watching Sanji cook. Of course he’d never admit it—no, not in a million years. Zoro would lounge around in the kitchen and the family room, sitting on a barstool drinking sake, cleaning his swords at the table, pretending to nap as he leaned against the wall, and watch the cook out of the corner of his eyes. His glances lingered on the small of the cook’s back, tracing the lines of pinstriped fabric or following the slithering of seams, on the nape of his neck, watching the short darker golden strands mingle with the lighter gleaming ones,  and on his hands, dancing with knives. It was always his hands that kept Zoro’s attention: the always steady hands of a master chef. They were strength. They were stability. They were the soul of the cook. They were Sanji.

Zoro had grown accustomed to the simple arrangement. The soft clinks and clanks of Sanji cooking in the kitchen with the outbursts from their neighbors ringing through the open windows in the fall, spring, and summer. Their nakama would join them for dinner on Fridays before scurrying off to party and dance. On Saturdays, they would all gather again for breakfast around Nami and Vivi’s dining table for Sanji’s magical hangover-curing breakfast and lunch was at Brook’s. On Sundays, it was brunch at Robin and Franky’s house, and dinner at Usopp and Kaya’s. On special occasions, mainly birthdays, the crew would go over to the D brothers and Chopper’s house where Sanji would go on a cleaning spree before finally making the magnificent feast they all appreciated.

Zoro, however, knew how hard the cook worked to make the perfect meals. He’d found the chef awake at ungodly hours rubbing a hand over his forehead as he stared down at a notepad full of recipe ideas to accommodate personal tastes. When Zoro had snatched the pad and had taken a good look, he was awestruck by how much effort the cook put into his food. Zoro had looked down at the irritated scowl that graced Sanji’s face as he pushed his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose and looked away. Zoro looked back and forth between the notes and the cook for a while before it finally sunk in that he appreciated the man even more now, and he promptly swung the blond over his shoulder and carried the thrashing man into their bedroom.

However, now the quiet little serenity that Zoro had enjoyed was broken by a little machine: the radio. Zoro liked music—hell, he needed a song blasting when he worked out sometimes because even he had days where it was a struggle to get out of bed. Zoro liked the mindless music that had a steady beat for training, but he had good taste otherwise—well, at least he hoped he did.

Getting used to the variety of music Sanji played was the hard part. Zoro started connecting types of music with types of dishes. When Sanji was making Italian or French cuisine, it was jazz music varying from the smoothest tune to the grooviest swing. When it was Spanish dishes, upbeat pop was playing. When he made soups and stews and chilies, it was R&B. Zoro knew what was being made almost as soon as he heard the music playing; however, Sanji’s favorite dishes were always accompanied by different songs, and Zoro couldn’t understand the connection between Aerosmith’s “Ragdoll,” the Four Seasons’ “Sherry,” Avicii’s “Waiting for Love,” and shrimp jambalaya—or any other dishes Sanji loved to make with the random assortment of songs playing.

It was Friday night. Sanji had started prepping his food at four thirty because the crew would be over at five thirty. He was making spicy seafood pasta and was listening to a mish-mosh of feel good songs. The kitchen was warm  with heat from the stove cooking the many different types of fish, and the window was open all the way to let the cool early May air into the house. Sanji was humming as he rocked on his heels before spinning over to flip a tuna fillet in a large pan.

“Pretty woman, won’t you pardon me?” Roy Orbison sang from the radio sitting on the counter out of the way. Sanji hummed along happily until the song faded out, and Gatz, the dj for the mix station Sanji listened to when he was in a good mood, started on about the terrific might of an up-and-coming college football team.

“And of course these strong men are looking for a little bit of respect!” Gatz exclaimed.

“What you want, baby, I got it,” Aretha Franklin sang as the trumpets bleated and saxophones blurted in the background of “Respect.” Oh, this was such a good day. Sanji continued to cook his fish as he twirled around the room grabbing spices and sauces and cooking utensils. His eyes flickered toward Zoro as he entered the kitchen. Zoro smirked, opened the fridge, and grabbed a beer before Sanji could kick the door shut on his hand. Zoro popped the top off easily and sat down at the marble island. Sanji glared over his shoulder before whipping his head back around and pushing his cooking fish around in the pans on the stove.

Soon, Sanji was rocking on his feet again and humming happily along with Aretha Franklin. He put the pasta in a pot of boiling water—it would need fifteen minutes to cook thoroughly—just as “Respect” faded out.

“You ain’t nothing but a hound dog, just crying all the time,” Elvis Presley sang, voice gravelly and rough. Sanji heard a snort from behind his shoulder, and he leveled Zoro’s amused questioning look with a scathing glare. Sanji turned back around and hunched his shoulders. He liked the music Gatz played—it was mixed in well and always had strong personality. It was different.

Zoro chuckled quietly as Sanji tapped his foot and tried to pout while cooking. Even when Sanji made something incredibly simple, the cook enjoyed making it, so it didn’t come as much of a shock when Sanji’s hips started swaying lightly with the upbeat twangs of the guitars. Zoro took a swig of his beer as he relaxed and watched Sanji cook.

That day had been a good day at work for Zoro. His physical therapy patients had been some of his favorites—the sweet old lady who could curse like a sailor, the extremely muscled man with a quiet disposition, and the sassy little boy with too much energy to spare—and his kendo classes had gone smoothly at the dojo. As a result, Zoro was in a good mood, and the raunchy beat worked its way in. He his leg was bouncing to the beat, and his fingers were tapping on the counter along with the lyrics. Maybe he’d indulge the cook tonight. Maybe not argue with him and pick a fight and just enjoy his company. Yeah, that sounded nice.

Suddenly, Zoro was standing, beer forgotten on the island. The song was coming to a close as he approached the cook. Zoro took a deep breath as he came up behind the cook’s bobbing body. The blond had just put his spatula down—both his hands were free.

“You ain’t never caught a rabbit—you ain’t no friend of mine!” Zoro sang along as he grabbed the cook’s right wrist and spun him around and away to arm’s length. Sanji’s eye widened in surprise before his face cracked in a wide grin. Zoro spun him back into his arms as the drumbeats intensified and finally ended. Sanji chuckled and tried to push away, but Zoro tightened his hold on the cook’s stomach as he waited for the next song to pick up.

“Dum, dum, dum, dum, dum, be, doobe, dum,” the radio crackled. Zoro blinked and looked at Sanji. He looked back as the doo-wop song continued on. They laughed until tears pricked their eyes, and Zoro spun Sanji out to arm’s length again.

“Well, love, love ya darlin’, come and go with me,” the radio crackled, and Sanji smiled brightly and swiveled back in towards Zoro and evaded his grip by spinning away in the other direction.

“Tell me, darlin’, we will never part—I need you, dariln’, so come go with me,” the Del Vikings sang as Sanji allowed himself to be pulled into Zoro’s chest. Zoro let his hand rest on the small of Sanji’s back as Sanji gripped Zoro’s shoulder.

“Wah, wah, wah, wah-ah!” Sanji sang as he tapped Zoro on the nose and stepped out of his grip. Zoro’s face scrunched before he followed after the cook, meeting step for step, spin for spin, and swing for swing. They circled around the island laughing. Zoro spun Sanji around.

“I need you, darlin’, so come go with me. Wo, wo, wo, wo-oh!” Zoro sang and smiled as Sanji laughed at the clash of his voice with the recording. They hopped around, twisting and sliding just like an old movie.

“I need you, darlin’, so come go with me,” Zoro sang again. The music slowed a bit with Zoro’s voice, and Sanji broke out of Zoro’s grip again and took a few steps away from him. “Come on go with me.”

“No, no, no, no-oh!” Sanji sang with a wide smile and with his eye sparkling with mirth. Zoro followed him, but Sanji moved away again.

“Come on go with me,” Zoro rolled his eyes as Sanji jumped away from his outstretched hand.

“No, no, no, no-oh!” Sanji waggled a finger.

“Come on go with me,” Zoro followed him again, but Sanji moved once more.

“No, no, no, no-oh!” Sanji snickered with a hand on his hip. Zoro growled and lunged. He latched on to Sanji and held him close.

“Come on go with me,” Zoro sang just loud enough to be heard over the music, face inches away from Sanji’s.

“No, no, no, no-oh,” Sanji sang back just as quietly and smiled. With the music quietly continuing to fade out, Sanji grinned and kissed Zoro on the cheek before quickly disentangling himself and returning to his food. Zoro huffed, a little dejected.

“That was fun and all, marimo, but I’ve gotta finish this before everyone else arrives,” Sanji said. Gatz was talking again, and Zoro turned to pick up his beer. His attention was piqued, however, with the bottle pressed to his lips.

“I hope you all have a wonderful night and here’s Frank Sinatra’s “I’ve Got the World On a String.” Tune in tomorrow at five for more mixes!” Gatz said. Zoro swallowed the alcohol and looked over at Sanji as the trumpets blared. The cook had moved most of the fish onto a pan over low heat to keep them from burning. He hurried over as Sanji watched his scallops sear. He spun him around again and was met with Sanji’s unamused glare.

“I’ve got the world on a string—sittin’ on a rainbow,” Zoro began, “Got the string around my finger—what a world, what a life,” Zoro sang twirling a strand of Sanji’s hair around his finger as he leaned in with a coy grin. “I’m in love.”

“Ugh, come on, dumbass, I have to finish thi—hey!” Sanji tried pushing Zoro away, but was just spun out and back into the swordsman’s hold—and away from his food.

“I’ve got a song that I sing. I can make the rain go—anytime I move my finger,” Zoro grabbed Sanji’s right hand and wrapped the other around the small of his back and spun them around. Sanji growled and attempted to stomp on Zoro’s feet to no avail. Zoro smirked and leaned Sanji back in a slight dip as he sang, “Lucky me—can’t you see I’m in love.”

“Hey, shit-for-brains, I’m serious. The crew’ll be over in like five—,” Sanji growled again, unsuccessfully trying to get the swordsman to relinquish his hold on him. Zoro simply stood him upright again, and they swerved around, paces matching perfectly.

“Life is a beautiful thing…as long as I hold the string,” Zoro grinned impishly as he released Sanji’s hand and grabbed the sides of his waist. He lifted him up and spun around.

“Hey, hey, hey! Stop!” Sanji cried, ready to lash out when Zoro dropped him back down to the ground and pulled him tight against him.

“I’d be a silly So-And-So if I should ever let it go,” Zoro said quietly. The trumpets sounded in the background, but they sounded quiet in comparison to Zoro’s smooth voice singing quietly. Sanji looked into Zoro’s eyes, all protests momentarily forgotten.

“I’ve got the world on a string—sittin’ on a rainbow,” Zoro began again. They danced in small circles to the beat of the song. “Got the string around my finger—what a world, what a life—I’m in love.”

Sanji snorted as they continued to sway and spin. Zoro’s smile broadened, and the trumpets sounded again in full force. Zoro let Sanji fall away from him; however this time, Sanji held on to Zoro’s hand and stretched himself out to arm’s length.

“Life is a beautiful thing as long as I hold the string,” Zoro sang louder as they came together and danced around the island to the sounds of trumpets and sizzling meat. “I’d be a silly So-And-So if I should ever let it go,” Zoro sang knocking his forehead against Sanji’s and earning a grunt in response. The blond pushed back, and their direction reversed.

“I’ve got the world on a string—sittin’ rainbow,” Zoro sang, punctuating the line with two stomps of his feet. Sanji chuckled as Zoro sang “Got the string around my finger—what a world.”

Sanji escaped from Zoro’s hands and danced, feet tapping and slapping on the kitchen tiles, along with the trumpets before taking Zoro’s hand.

“Man, this’s the life,” Zoro sang as he started to spin Sanji around. “Hey, now,” Zoro began pulling the still spinning Sanji toward him.

“I’m so in love!” Zoro whirled around with Sanji in his grasp as he held the last word. He stopped before the final blast of trumpets and leaned Sanji back in a deep dip. As the final note ended, Zoro bent over Sanji and pressed him to his chest as he kissed him hard. Sanji melted into the kiss. When they finally straightened, foreheads pressed together, they both were grinning maniacally. Sanji pressed another kiss to Zoro’s lips, soft and sweet, before pulling back and chuckling.

“You, stupid marimo. You couldn’t have waited five minutes until I was—,” Sanji started but stopped. His face paled as his smile fell. Zoro swallowed, and his back tensed. Sanji turned his head away and looked toward the stove. His cheeks reddened in anger as he saw his nearly finished dish, and Zoro released his grip on the cook and backed up quickly. He was in the doorway of the kitchen by the time the cook whipped around ferociously.

“YOU GODDAMN STUPID-ASS MARIMO!” Sanji bellowed. Zoro bolted towards the sliding glass door that led to the safety of the outdoors. Zoro ripped the door open and came face to face with Luffy and Usopp.

“Hey, Zoro! What’s up? Is the food—,” Luffy greeted enthusiastically but was cut off by Zoro being launched out of the house by an angry kick to the back.

“THE FUCKING SCALLOPS BURNED, YOU STUPID DIPSHIT!” Sanji screeched before slamming the door shut and locking it. Luffy and Usopp looked at the sprawled swordsman curiously.

“What was that?” Usopp asked, and Zoro groaned.

“Let’s just say I won’t be sitting on a rainbow for a while,” Zoro said, standing up and rubbing his lower back where the cook’s kick had landed.

“I don’t get it, but you’ll be alright, Zoro!” Luffy said and slapped him hard on the sure-to-be-bruising footmark. Zoro hissed and dropped to a knee, pain rocketing up his spine and down in his legs.

Damnit all—he wouldn’t be able to sit down for a couple days!


	9. Phase One: Infiltration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY GUYS!!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE KUDOS!!!! I really appreciate it. Anyway, if ya'll been paying attention, you'll have noticed the chapter count went up! So this chapter, is the first installment of a little idea I've been stuck on and I want to do it right so it's going to be longer than one chapter. It'll be updated every time I get to a 9, so like like 9, 19, 29, ect. all the way up to 109! If I've done my math right, then that means that 100 different ideas is 110 chapters, correct me if I'm wrong. But, back on track, this'll be 11 chapters long and this is the first installment! Woot! 
> 
> Comments are appreciated, and I'll accept critiques because I wanna make this series amazeballs!

Sometimes, there is no place to hide. He was silence. He was darkness. He was death. He was the wind at your back. He was the gooseflesh on your skin on a warm day. He was the unexplained shiver that went up your spine. His name was Sanji, and he was a chef of the highest caliber.

Well, he was that. God, if only he was just a chef. His life would have been perfect: perfect restaurant, perfect suits, perfect hair, perfect friends, perfect family, perfect _life_. Except for that fact that not everything was perfect: not his family. Good lord no, his _family_ was far from perfect. His two brothers were deranged, his mother and little sister deceased, and his father was psychotic. They weren’t the picture perfect family who ate together and talked about feelings and their pleasant days at work, albeit they did do those things—except for the mushy-gushy feelings part. Ah, their work. It was the family legacy, and Sanji’s actual job. Right, he had to face the music. He was a reaper, an assassin.

* * *

 

Sanji hated Sunday. It was the one day of the week where his restaurant was closed—leaving his schedule open—in his father’s eyes—for more jobs during the day. Sometimes it was four people, and others it was one. It was one in the afternoon.

Sanji had been tracking his target for two hours. The hulking giant was easy enough for an assassin to notice, but to the ordinary people, he was practically invisible. He maintained a shifty posture with leering eyes, but his presence was almost zero in the crowded park. Absalom was always good at erasing his existence, and Sanji wondered if it was because he needed to hide his face because it looked like a mauled dog. Sanji had been stalking the man from the treetops, unnoticed, and his eyes scanned the area hoping that Absalom would make a detour to a semi-quiet place. Sanji’s favorite handgun, his SIG P210, was tucked into the bolster on his side, hidden by his black Canali double breasted suit jacket. His off-white dress shirt was stiff with starch as he crouched on a branch. His fingers drummed absentmindedly on the bark as he eyed Absalom. He needed to do this within the hour or he’d be late to his next appointment.

Absalom shifted his stance and moved into a grove of trees. Sanji smirked.

“Fucking finally,” he whispered before leaping to the next treetop. The only indication of his change in position was the slight rustle of the leaves which was easily dismissed as a breeze. Sanji watched Absalom with a predatory stance, gun in hand with silencer equipped. Absalom zig-zagged between the trees, heading into the shade. He leaned against the trunk of a large oak tree and took out his notepad. He scribbled furiously as Sanji crept down the branches. Sanji straddled a branch not twenty feet off the ground and slipped over the side. He hooked his ankles together and hung upside down, quiet and watching. His eyes were pinned to Absalom’s face where a nasty grin was plastered.  Absalom was, no doubt, writing down the measurements of all the women he’d passed by. Sanji took aim.

The first thing you feel when you kill someone is not guilt. No, guilt comes much later, but after the first hundred people, a man tends to get used to it. The guilt sits there in the back of your throat and kills your appetite. It chips away at your heart slowly, but lucky for Sanji, he’d lost his ages ago. No, the first thing you feel when you kill someone is relief. It’s over. Just remove the bullet, spray the fast-acting decomposition spray on the wound, and leave the insignia. Boom, murder done.

Sanji landed on his toes and slunk over to Absalom’s dead body. Sanji rolled him over carefully with his shoe. His lips twitched into a hard frown. Absalom’s eyes stared up at him, dirt smudged into the cornea from the fall. The bullet wound was leaking a bright red river down Absalom’s nose, diverging into two streams that soon pooled and leaked into the corners of his eyes. Small bits of skull and brain drifted like flotsam. Sanji put a latex glove on and took out his silver tweezers. He sunk the elongated metal into Absalom’s gaping forehead with a sickening squelch. Sanji grimaced—he hated this part. Once he retrieved the bullet, placed it and the glove in a plastic bag for disposal, and tucked everything away, he sprayed the bacteria infested potion on the wound and turned to the tree.

He took out his brand. It was a metal circle—nothing fancy—that heated within seconds to two hundred degrees. He pressed the metal into the tree, bark hissing and smoking away. Sanji removed the brand. A ten centimeter circle was imprinted in the gnarled bark. Sanji took out the other stamp, another brand that was replaced on each job. It represented the motive of the client. He pressed it into the bark again. Sanji turned and jumped up into the trees. He’d leave the way he came, unnoticed and quiet as death.

The jogger who found Absalom’s body was appalled by the grotesque decay seeping from the man’s face. Absalom’s flesh was purpled and sunken, and his blood and brains were a molten brown. The police dismissed the body—no evidence would be found with the amount of destruction the bacteria had caused already. They turned to the small brand on the tree, the familiar dark circle a reminder of all the unsolved cases around the world. The symbol inside similar to many others: a lotus. Other victims found with the Black O and a lotus had been rapists, sex offenders, pedophiles, or any other type of revolting sexual monsters. The police shook their heads and handed the case off to the rookie, Koby, knowing full well nothing would come of it. The Obsidian, an elite group of assassins, had struck again.

* * *

 

“I assume everything went well today, Sanji?” the lanky man asked. The family of four was seated around a long glass table. The enormous thing could seat twenty people—it had to for Master Vinsmoke’s weekly business dinners—and the room was still spacious. The marble columns supporting the high rising ceiling and the two large chandeliers made the room seem light. The chairs were creamy and plush. The rug was light brown and dark green. The silk caramel drapes that framed the boxy windows added even more elegance than the shiny tiled floor. It was breathe taking and beautiful. It was all for appearances. Had Master Vinsmoke not needed to mask the family’s occupations, then the room would have been filled with dark furniture and lots of black. Master Vinsmoke was never one for elegance—he preferred the drab and dreary and dark.

“Yes, sir,” Sanji replied as he pushed his succulent pieces of lamb around on his plate. He looked at his father from beneath his eyelashes. Rule number one: never make direct eye contact.

“Good. I have had a special request by a client,” Master Vinsmoke said. He poked a slimy looking mushroom into his mouth. His two older brothers looked up in interest. Their eyes shone with cold-blooded glee at the mention of ‘special’ job. Anything different from the mundane killings—which weren’t mundane at all—they usually got was always welcome. Sanji dropped his fork on the plate. Speaking of murder over dinner, it made him lose his appetite.

“You all have heard of the Straw Hats, correct?” Master Vinsmoke said as he dabbed at the sides of his mouth his napkin.  The three young men nodded. Who hadn’t heard of the vigilante group cleaning up crime syndicates all around the city? The group has rumored to have eight main members—all of whom were skilled fighters. The group had many different alliances with other groups pursuing ‘justice’ all around the world, but the word on the street was that the headquarters was based somewhere in Grand Line City.

“I have been informed of one of their identities. Our client wishes to remain anonymous, but they obviously want this vigilante killed,” Master Vinsmoke said lightly looking around the table at his three sons.

“Oh, Father, sir, may I have the pleasure of killing this one?” Sanji looked to his left at his brother, the second oldest. His brother was grinning maniacally, and Sanji shuddered. It was appalling.

“No, you insolent fool. The client specified that they wanted this job done slowly. They want to torment the poor idiot before he is killed. They want to toy with his heart, and you, impatient idiot, are not cunning enough to trick this vigilante into believing anything you say,” Master Vinsmoke hissed. His gaze turned back on Sanji.

“Sanji, you have had an easy time lately with your jobs. I think that this would be a perfect opportunity for you. Now, the client has given you two years to kill this imbecile, so make sure you do it right. The information should be in an encrypted email. Please do have some fun with this one,” Master Vinsmoke smiled. Sanji nodded solemnly before excusing himself and heading towards his apartment.

When he arrived at his home, he opened his laptop and found the email easily enough. The encryption was cracked within minutes, and Sanji was reading the files quietly. Information about his target’s jobs, his taste in food, his address, his laundry schedule, and anything else possible was recorded. A picture of the young man was at the end of the file. It was slightly blurry because of the movement behind him, but Sanji saw the man’s face clearly. He had a permanent frown etched into his sharp features and his dark eyes were focused somewhere else. His hair was green, and Sanji couldn’t help but chuckle. How idiotic—of course his identity would’ve been found out with such a striking color. Sanji sighed as he looked at the man’s face.

“What stupid thing did you do to warrant such an awful death, Roronoa Zoro?”

* * *

 

“DC, cover me! I gotta go drag Hats back before he destroys the building!” Zoro shouted. He glanced over his shoulder quickly as Robin, DC, created more body parts to dispatch the weaker enemies. Zoro refocused on the sound of screaming up ahead, quickly spotting Luffy’s red jacket and straw hat. Zoro launched forward clearing a path towards the whirlwind of rubbery limbs.

“Hey, Hunter! Watch your back!” Usopp’s voice crackled from Zoro’s ear piece. Zoro whipped around and blocked an attack from a large axe with his swords. The enemy collapsed not even a second later, tranquilizer dart protruding from his fat neck. Zoro resumed his a course towards Luffy.

“Thanks, King,” Zoro said as he cut down an enemy about to strike Nami. Nami grinned at him and sent an electric current flashing past him.

“Hurry up, Hunter. Hats’ll demolish this place with us still inside,” Nami smirked before shooting out a large bolt of lightning towards a mass of henchman. They collapsed, and Zoro swooped forward.

“Shut up. I’m on it,” Zoro replied. Zoro reached Luffy in no time, grabbed his attention, and worked his way over to be back to back with the captain of their group.

“Hey, Hunter, what’s up?” Luffy said. Zoro sighed as he heard the smile in Luffy’s voice. Figures the moron would be having fun taking out a drug syndicate.

“Building’s gonna collapse and only weaklings are here. Cyborg says we have two minutes before he blows the place. Let’s get out,” Zoro said. He felt Luffy grab him around the middle and launch his other arm across the room.

“Hats, no!” Zoro yelled before being snapped across the room with Luffy. They smashed into the stone wall by the exit and rushed outside. Zoro groaned happily when he reached the Merry. The sleek black SUV was tricked out with all sorts of electronic gizmos and gadgets. He climbed in the back where Nami, Robin, and Usopp all sat. Franky was in the driver’s seat and as soon as Luffy was inside, they shot off. No cars followed, Brook had probably slashed all the tires and was back at the Sunny, their HQ.

“Ready for a SUPER dramatic exit?” Franky snickered before pressing one of the many blinking buttons on the dashboard. A large explosion sounded behind them and debris went flying past them as they sped away from the now flaming building. Zoro sighed as he watched the fire fade in the distance. He needed a nap. Crime fighting was exhausting.

* * *

 

Sanji gripped his coffee cup tightly. This moment was crucial in his job. He was walking towards his restaurant, All Blue, and it wasn’t fifteen feet away. The man that Sanji was approaching had his eyes locked on the phone in his hand. Sanji quickened his pace and took out his own phone. He didn’t unlock it but held it up like he was looking at something important anyway. He smashed into the other man, coffee cup crushed between them.

“Holy fuck, watch where you’re going asshole!” Zoro yelped, shirt now stuck to his body by the warm liquid.

“Me? What about you, fucktard?” Sanji yelled back and sighed angrily as he glared at his ruined white shirt.

“I’m sorry, but how could you possibly not see me, idiot? Damn, I can’t see Nami like this. Fuck!” Zoro groaned. He raked a hand through his hair as he stared down at his stained clothes and shoved his equally sticky phone in his back pocket.

Sanji quickly matched “Nami” to a face and a relationship from his late night studying. “Nami” was female, was twenty three years old, was gloriously beautiful—if Sanji did say so himself—was Zoro’s closest friend—who he confided in about everything—besides “Luffy,” and was a lesbian.

“Fuck, I don’t have time for this, just come into my restaurant. It’s that one—right there. I have some spare clothes in my office,” Sanji said. He started walking past Zoro and looked over his shoulder at the puzzled look on the other’s face. He sighed through his nose and looked sidelong at him, “It’ll be my apology.”

“I dunno, man. I just bumped into a total jackass like you, and now you’re inviting me into your business? Sounds sketchy,” Zoro said, wrinkling his nose. Sanji stopped and faced him.

“Alright, fine. My name’s Sanji Vinsmoke, a first class chef and owner of the five star restaurant All Blue. I’m twenty four, despise my family, and practice a form of Savate in my spare time. My favorite color is blue, and I smoke. Do I need to continue or are you satisfied, marimo?” Sanji said, hands on his hips—establish confidence and put on up a front that screams ‘I have nothing to hide,’ check. Zoro blinked and frowned.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll take you up on the offer, shit cook,” Zoro growled and passed by Sanji. He walked right past All Blue’s doors, and Sanji snorted—no sense of direction, check.

“Hey, it’s right here, shit-for-brains,” Sanji said entering the large alcove. Sanji walked through the spacious dining room, the shiny marble tiles and dark wood of the round tables and booth seat contrasted nicely, the one side of All Blue was all glass which allowed the patrons a breathtaking view of the sloping city below, the walls were a deep navy blue, the chandeliers were small and generously spaced to allow most of the lighting to be natural and to create a hazy glow at night, and the dark curling stairway lead to another more modern level above and a more rustic level below. It was Sanji’s pride and joy—too bad his father only saw it as a cover job.

Sanji led Zoro into the back, past the immense kitchen already bustling with his employees, and into his office. The cozy abode was like Sanji’s actual home, a small couch on one side of the room pulled out into a bed for late nights, the red bohemian rug and plush chair made the area look smaller. A large desk, cluttered with files and papers and books and a lamp with a green lamp shade, stood in the background of the sitting area. A wardrobe sat to the left of the desk and bookshelves lined the back walls. A small white door on the right side led to a bathroom with a small walk in shower. The walls were maroon and the circular light in the middle of the ceiling gave enough light so one wouldn’t trip on the books and piles of papers scattered about the floor. Three pictures hung from the available wall space. One was grim and professional, Sanji surrounded by his brothers and father on the opening day of All Blue, and the other two were much happier and warm, Sanji with his mother and sister all smiling happily in a flower garden when Sanji was about nine and Sanji with his mentor, Zeff, sneering at each other as they worked back to back in Zeff’s restaurant, the Baratie.

Sanji opened the wardrobe and plucked out a soft green V-neck t-shirt, washed out jeans, and a brown leather jacket—all appropriately sized for Zoro—and handed the clothes to the other man.

“Bathroom’s right there. I’ll change into my work clothes out here, so knock when you’re done,” Sanji said and stripped off his shirt. He heard the bathroom door click behind him and he grumbled quietly. All this trouble of getting close to the target made the kill so much harder. God, Sanji hated his life. Sanji hated himself.

Sanji buttoned his white chef uniform and rolled up his sleeves just in time for Zoro to knock once and waltz out of the bathroom wearing the new clothes.

“Uh, thanks. I guess. I really appreciate it,” Zoro said, awkwardly rubbing his neck. Sanji shrugged and smirked.

“My turn. Since you ruined one of best dress shirts, I have one favor to ask of you, King of the Plants,” Sanji snickered as Zoro visibly bristled.

“What?”

“Eat my food.”

“…What?”

“Ya know, eat my food. Love it. Bring your friends here later this week. Spend money. Pay me back that way,” Sanji said walking out of his office and to his own little section of the kitchen. Sanji may have been the owner and the head chef, but he still needed to be involved in the preparation of his food. Sanji would’ve rather died than simply taste sauces and watch idiots screw up his recipes. Sanji made the specials for the day and some other dishes and left the maintaining of his cooks to his sous chef, Jessica.

“What would you like, marimo?” Sanji said, washing his hands. Zoro glanced around at the busy kitchen and back at Sanji’s expectant gaze. He blanked.

“O-onigiri?” Zoro said. He cursed himself mentally. Why ask for such a simple snack in front of this guy? He probably didn’t even know what onigiri were!

“Hm, Japanese cuisine, huh? Alright you got it. Grab a stool and sit down over there,” Sanji said, waving Zoro off to the side. Zoro complied and sat down. He texted Nami saying he would be about an hour late. Her reply was almost immediate.

Zoro glanced around the kitchen at all of the other cooks. His brow scrunched in confusion. The cooks weren’t weak looking men, no sir. These cooks had scars and a fire in their eyes that only screamed ‘gangsters’ to Zoro. The burly men and equally terrifying women rumbled around the kitchen yelling insults and angry directions. This was a five star restaurant’s staff?

“Order up,” Sanji said, placing a plate with three perfectly shaped rice balls in front of Zoro. The man looked up at him in surprise.

“Wow, that was fast,” Zoro said as he picked up the first one and took a bite. His eyes widened in surprise as the familiar taste flooded his mouth. It reminded him of his dojo and the oil he used to clean his swords with. The taste was more refined than what Koshiro used to make, but Zoro distinctly remembered scarfing down the snacks after harsh practices. Zoro groaned appreciatively and took another large bite. Sanji smiled and leaned against the counter.

“Good, right?” Sanji said. Zoro nodded, too entranced with the wonderfully simple food. When he had practically licked the plate clean, Zoro took out his wallet, but Sanji stopped him.

“Uh-uh, that wasn’t the deal. Bring your friends by sometime this week and then we’ll be even,” Sanji smiled as Zoro frowned and put his wallet away.

“But don’t, uh, good restaurants have reservations filled for, like, six months?” Zoro asked, and Sanji’s smile slipped.

“Oh, right. This month’s booked tight,” Sanji said and looked at the ceiling. Zoro reached toward his pocket.

“So, then I guess I’ll just give you my number, and you can text me when you’re coming by so I can set up another table, okay?” Sanji beamed. Zoro blinked.

“Was that just a really roundabout way of getting my number?” Zoro asked. Sanji shrugged and smirked.

“I don’t know. You tell me. Am I getting your number?” Sanji said. Zoro’s cheeks heated slightly at the broad smile.

As Zoro left the restaurant, Sanji’s number entered into his phone, Sanji watched the man turn left and then retrace his steps for about five minutes before finally disappearing around the block. Sanji sighed.

“That was damn tiring. All that to get a fucking phone number,” Sanji sighed as he puffed on his cigarette. He crushed it out in an ashtray and returned to the kitchen. Sanji grimaced at the bitter taste in his mouth which, for once, wasn’t from the cigarette.


	10. Icing on the Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, so I had this dumb plot bunny in my head today, and the other chapter I was working on just was making my brain hurt, so this is! Hope y'all like it and everything. 
> 
> If you guys have any tips or complaints about anything I'd love to hear them. I want to make this series of works the best it can be so leave a comment please! Thanks I love all you guys!

“What in the _fuck_ did you do to my _kitchen_?” Sanji screeched as he walked into the galley. The normally orderly space was positively covered in mixtures of flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, eggs, vanilla, and chocolate. Pans and bowls were piled in towering stacks with batter and chocolate icing drying on their surfaces. Utensils were strewn everywhere. Sanji looked up at the ceiling in horror as he spotted batter stuck to the beams. He snapped his head back down to glare at the man invading his sanctuary.

“Oh, hey. Cake’s in the fridge. I’m just cleaning up,” Zoro said, chocolate smeared on his forehead and powder coating his tan forearms as he gathered all the dirty dishes and deposited them in warm soapy water. Sanji’s face was twitching. He was torn between being absolutely furious about the destruction and shocked at the awful state of things. He ignored the small buzz of endearment as he looked at Zoro meticulously scrubbing away at the grime and how cute it was that the marimo actually was wearing his apron and—wait, angry. He was supposed to be angry, right.

“What the hell, Zoro? Have you lost your mind?” Sanji hissed as he stalked over to the other man. Zoro looked at him quizzically.

“What? Would you rather I leave this mess for you, shithead?” Zoro said as he turned back to scrubbing at a large metal bowl.

“No! My problem is that you just waltzed into _my_  kitchen and practically went batshit crazy in it! I don’t go around messing with your swords do I?” Sanji growled. Zoro looked over at him again and sighed.

“Alright, I get it. I won’t do it again without you in here, okay?” Zoro said. Sanji could’ve sworn he saw a slight pout grace the swordsman’s features, but Zoro would never pout or give up a fight that easily. Sanji’s eyes narrowed. Something was amiss and—

“My whisk! Oh, my poor baby, what did the marimo do to you? Oh, you’re practically bent in half!” Sanji said as he spotted the cooking utensil sitting in a bowl beside the sink. The metal instrument was almost severed in two because of how far it was bent. It was beyond repairable, and Sanji turned on Zoro, face red with anger.

“My bad?” Zoro offered, sensing the murderous aura coming from the cook. Sanji lifted his leg back and started to initiate a kick but stopped himself and sighed. He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Okay, out with it. Why?” Sanji sighed. Zoro had to have a reason for invading his space and attempting to cook. Zoro froze and looked away.

“No reason.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Then why aren’t you looking at me, hm?”

“Your face is so ugly it’ll make me go blind.”

“Zoro,” Sanji said, tone flat and void of playfulness or anger. It was an order. _Spill it_.

“Fine, I lost a bet to Nami, and she said if I made you a present then she’d let me slide,” Zoro conceded. Sanji sighed. There it was. He couldn’t be angry at his Nami–swan for anything.

“Okay, why a cake though?” Sanji asked, folding his arms over his chest and leaning against a clean spot on the counter.

“Well, I knew where one of your cookbooks were, and it seemed simpler than making you a steak or something. Plus, we had more flour and eggs than meat,” Zoro said. Sanji’s mouth quirked up slightly. The marimo did pay attention sometimes when he prattled off about supplies and menus. Lucky for Sanji, they were landing at an island the next day, and he could restock the lost ingredients.

“Hm, if it tastes fine, then maybe I’ll consider lessening your punishment,” Sanji said, pushing himself off the counter. Zoro hummed in question.

“How so?”

“You’ll only have to clean this mess up yourself,” Sanji said as he approached the fridge. Zoro beamed at him.

“Easy—I followed your recipe to a T!” Zoro said, scrubbing away at his last bowl. Sanji pulled the covered platter from the fridge and placed it on the counter. It was considerably heavy. It was a reasonably sized cake then. Sanji chuckled to himself as he pulled out a fork.

“Now, I had a little last minute inspiration for the decoration,” Zoro said. Sanji didn’t hear the quiet snicker as he lifted the lid off the platter. He froze, fork poised in his hand, lid half-way to the counter, and jaw slack. Sanji’s face reddened, and he slowly set the fork and lid on the counter and leaned over them, bangs shielding his face. Zoro snickered louder from the sink and wiped his hands on the apron. He turned to gauge the cook’s reaction.

“If I didn’t have a principle about wasting food, I would shove this piece of shit back up your ass,” Sanji said. Zoro guffawed.

“I thought it was endearing, Snoochy-Poo!” Zoro laughed. Sanji snapped his head up, cheeks ablaze. He glowered at the marimo.

“That is _not_  an endearment! It’s an abomination!” Sanji shrieked.

“Oh, c’mon. You haven’t even tasted it!” Zoro snickered. Sanji’s neck flushed in embarrassment.

“Remind me again why I haven’t kicked you through the wall yet?” Sanji grit out. Zoro smirked as he sauntered over to the cook and looked at his masterpiece. He grabbed the cook’s hips and spun them around so he had the cook pinned to the counter.

“Because I’m irresistible in an apron,” Zoro said, leaning into Sanji’s space. Sanji growled and latched onto the frilly material.

“Really now?” Sanji said.

“Yep, and I make the most appealing cakes ever,” Zoro said, centimeters away from Sanji’s lips. He could feel the cook’s breathe gust over his mouth in hot puffs.

“Yeah? Well then, Mr. Baker, I’ve got some wonderful news for you,” Sanji whispered, lips brushing against the swordsman’s. Zoro hummed in question as he pressed forward to close the distance briefly. Sanji turned them slightly so they were leaning sideways against the counter.

“Witing ‘Sorry I got semen in your eye,’” Sanji recited, iced words seared into his memory forever, “is not appealing or endearing.” Zoro stiffened as he felt the heat from the cook’s flames lick at his feet. He gulped as he pulled back and looked Sanji in the eye. The cook smiled sickeningly sweet, and Zoro shivered.

“Oh, yeah?” Zoro gulped.

“Yeah, and neither,” Sanji said, patting the swordsman’s chest, “are _you_!”

Usopp squeaked as Zoro skidded past his lab equipment, barely missing the tabasco star mixture. He looked at the frazzled swordsman as Zoro sat up rubbing the back of his head and groaning. The swordsman had shot out of the galley door with a loud bang, and Usopp glanced back as Sanji slammed it shut. Usopp’s swiveled his head back to Zoro.

“ _Zoro_! Your apron’s smoking!” Usopp shrieked. Zoro grumbled as he smacked his palms against the pink material and stood up.

“Last time I try to apologize about stupid shit like that,” Zoro said. Sanji burst through the galley door.

“You used to much sugar in the icing, dipshit! Did you even taste it?” Sanji barked. Usopp flinched as Zoro growled.

“Maybe if I used a different type of icing it would be more bitter!” Zoro yelled back. Sanji flushed and snarled.

“If you ever do that to food, so help me Zoro, I will kill you,” Sanji said. Zoro smirked.

“Why? You seemed to like it last time. You licked up every last dr—,” Zoro taunted. Usopp cringed as he watched the swordsman sail into the water about three hundred yards in front of the ship. He swallowed as he saw the shadow of the cook next to him. He looked up.

“If you so much as think of this conversation again, you can expect to be swimming with the marimo, understand?” Sanji said, cigarette hanging from his lips. Usopp nodded vigorously, and Sanji smiled.

“Good, now do you want a piece of shitty cake?”


	11. Windows to the Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all! I'm back, alive, and healthy! Sorry this took so long, I kinda think I screwed it up, but this is my first attempt at a soulmate au so bear with me. PS next chapter'll be a quickie so hopefully I get that up soon! 
> 
> Also, critiques are always welcome.
> 
> Finally, if any of you'd like to beta for me that'd be swell. I'm not that great at editing things and my irl friends aren't that into zosan. Anyway, just worth asking. Have fun!

Zoro was befuddled. He couldn’t wrap his head around the idea that his soulmate didn’t want to be with him. Everyone always raved about how once you met your soulmate you could see color, glorious, _glorious_ color, and, of course, about the undying love the two of you would share for the rest of your lives.

Yeah, Zoro had spent the first week after meeting Kuina just wandering around looking at everything. He absorbed every color he could see from the brightest yellow to the deepest brown. Zoro loved the colors as much as a five year old could. The only problem was why Kuina wouldn’t accept him as her soulmate. She scorned his advances and only practiced with her shinai. When Zoro took up swordsmanship and challenged the slightly older girl he lost pathetically.

“If you defeat me, maybe then I’ll consider you my soulmate,” Kuina had said two years later. Zoro trained and trained and challenged and challenged, but he always lost. He adapted his style to two swords, becoming stronger than anyone in the dojo—except for Kuina. Over their thousands of fights and duels, Zoro grew to respect Kuina and her skills. He grew found of her cocky smile and the faraway look she would get when she thought no one was watching.

After he’d lost for the 2000th time, Zoro challenged her with real swords—a stupid idea in hindsight. He lost once again, but Zoro gained the privilege of being the only other person to know of Kuina’s secret woes of being a girl. Zoro was startled by the fact that his ambition was actually so vulnerable, and he promised her that she would only lose to him because of his skills and not because he was a boy. Through her tears, Kuina had smiled and they made the promise of striving to become the greatest swordsman. Kuina had kissed his forehead and run off after that. Zoro sat dumbstruck in the grass, cheeks pink and heart fluttering. He had run home happy and fell asleep after looking at his beloved swords leaning against the wall.

Zoro woke early in the morning and startled when the tatami were a shade of light grey and the grass a shade of slate. He blinked and rubbed his eyes furiously. What had happened? Zoro had heard of the loss of color before. He knew it only happened when the other soulmate had… He rushed towards Kuina’s dojo, heart in his throat. That was the day that Zoro learned not only that he’d lost the color from his world but his soulmate as well.

Zoro mourned the loss of Kuina more than the loss of the color, remembering glimpses of the blue sheen of her hair and the pink of her lips. Zoro threw himself into his training, quickly learning how to use three swords.

He hadn’t cared who he fought and battled, as long as he could crawl his way to the top of the ladder. He defeated pirate after pirate, hoping to attract stronger swordsmen. His plan had been working for years, until he was captured by those bastard marines, and Luffy showed up. Then Nami and Usopp joined the crew, and Zoro felt less like pulling his hair out and skinning his captain every day.

“Zoro?” Luffy had asked one day. Zoro grunted a reply from the deck where he was doing two-finger pushups.

“Why’s your hair green?” Luffy said. Zoro stopped midway through a rep and looked at his captain quizzically.

“I dunno, dumbass. When did you get the colors?” Zoro responded. His interest was piqued by his captain’s ability to see colors when only Usopp was able to so far because of his soulmate Kaya.

“Whaddya mean? I’ve always been able to see colors, dummy,” Luffy said as he looked at Zoro like he was the stupidest person on the planet.

“Then who’s your soulmate?” Zoro asked. A weakness for Luffy could spell trouble.

“No one.”

“That’s not possible. Who is it?”

“No one. I don’t have a soulmate. Geez, Zoro maybe you need more meat in your diet. You’re kinda dumb,” Luffy said. He stood and bounced away to Usopp. Zoro continued his workout.

* * *

 

Zoro looked away from the meal before him when he heard the footsteps approach their table. Zoro swallowed the lump of potatoes and watched the tall waiter pass by with arms laden with steaming plates and a salad on his head. Zoro snickered as he watched the curlicue eyebrow scrunch on the man’s forehead. When the man turned back around he caught Zoro’s gaze but quickly blinked and looked around their table. Zoro’s eyebrow rose skeptically as the man’s one visible eye widened.

“Uh-uhm! Miss! Miss! What color is my hair?” the strange man said as he bolted to their table and gripped Nami’s hand with hearts floating around him. Nami swallowed and looked at the mop of hair on the man’s head. Zoro blinked furiously. His eyes must be playing tricks on him because for a second a flash of pale yellow covered the man’s hair.

“An off-shade of white?” Nami answered. The man’s heart sank, and he looked at Luffy and shook his head. No, he’d already met Luffy. His gaze swiveled to Usopp. The longnose blinked and crossed his arms in front of his chest in an X.

“Nope, not me. I’ve had my soulmate for years,” Usopp said with a crab leg sticking out the corner of his mouth. The man sighed with a little more relief than necessary. The man turned to Zoro with a look of hopeful disgust. If that was even possible.

“It’s the color of egg yolks, corn, and sunshine?” Zoro ventured. This weirdo wouldn’t know what yellow was yet. Hell, the dude obviously had blond hair judging by the shade of the light gray, and if that flash of yellow was any hint then that was his best guess. The man startled and looked at a deviled egg on the table and audibly gulped. Zoro took a swig of his ale.

“Nice to meet you, uhm. My name is Sanji. I hope we’ll get along from now on,” Sanji said. He stood from Nami’s side and turning fully to Zoro. He bowed a bit and rushed off. Zoro sighed into his bottle, and Nami smacked him on the back.

“Good for you, Zoro! You’ve met your soulmate!” Nami said. Zoro shrugged away her touch.

“No, I met my soulmate when I was five,” Zoro said. He ignored the small twist in his gut as he downed another swig of ale. Nami’s face contorted in confusion.

“Then why would you do that?” Nami said.

“My world’s been black and white since I was eight,” Zoro said. Nami gasped.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Zoro,” Nami said quietly. “Then that means—?”

“He’s an unrequited soul.”

* * *

Sanji was hyperventilating back in the kitchens. Everything was so, so, so _vibrant_ : the fire from the stoves, the scales of the fish, the woodgrains, the neckties, the tiles, everything was so different. It was almost too much. The commotion outside the kitchen doors caught his attention, and he peaked out the porthole to see Patty beating on a customer who looked starved. Sanji’s jaw squared. He’d deal with this new development after he kicked Patty’s ass.

God, all the food was full of color: orange, yellow, blue, green, red, pink. Sanji was practically quizzing Gin, a man whose soulmate was safe at home on an island far from the pirates, on colors. What was purple? Or green? Or maroon? Or chartreuse?

Sanji wanted to know everything about the colors.

* * *

“Ah, so I’ll have lost the colors after having them for an hour?”  Sanji thought as he stared out at his soulmate WITH GREEN HAIR—what the hell? That most certainly wasn’t normal. Was it?—as he faced off with Hawk Eyes Mihawk.

“It’s just too easy for you to give up your dream like that!” Sanji yelled as his soulmate’s blood splattered in a dark _red_ arc. Sanji shut his eyes. So that was blood red.

“Zoro-sempai’s ALIVE!” someone shouted. Sanji blinked and his world was still filled with color. He sighed, stilled confused with Zoro’s will to give his life for his dream.

Sanji would understand only later, once he stood before death’s door himself and sneered at it. He would only understand after he was sent off the Baratie by Zeff to follow their dream or die trying. Sanji smirked around his cigarette. Maybe his soulma—Zoro wouldn’t be so bad after all—even if he _was_ a guy. A very attractive one at that.

* * *

Zoro groaned as he attempted to roll over on the cot. His torso burned in protest. Zoro cracked one eye open. He looked up at a slightly orange tinted ceiling and blinked away the flash of color. Zoro groaned again as he sat himself up even as his body screamed in protest. He looked at his surroundings and found a person asleep on a chair next to his bed. He growled. Fuck, it was that stupid chef. The unrequited soul.

“Hey,” Zoro prodded the man’s sleeping form. Sanji wrinkled his nose and flopped down on the bed with a huff. Zoro poked him again. “Hey, curlicue-eyebrow.”

“What the fuck was that?” Sanji said as he slammed the back of his head into Zoro’s chin. Zoro winced as his stomach tightened at the assault. He glared at the imposing idiot.

“Stupid cook. Why the fuck are you here?” Zoro growled. He rubbed his chin. Sanji blinked at him owlishly.

“Well, I was making sure you didn’t run a high fever again or accidentally spill your guts out while you slept, moron,” Sanji said. His fingers fidgeted for a cigarette.

“No, I don’t care about why you’re in this room. Why are you on this island instead of on that boat-restaurant-thing?” Zoro grumbled.

“That stupid bouncing rubber ball wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Sanji said. Zoro sighed. Figures Luffy would want the only fucking cook that could potentially ruin Zoro’s life.

“I’m not your soulmate, shit cook,” Zoro said. He looked into Sanji’s grey eye and surveyed his appearance. No flashes of color or hints of light. Sanji’s brow scrunched.

“But, you knew what my hair looked like,” Sanji said. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He didn’t like where this was going.

“I guessed. My soulmate died when I was a kid,” Zoro said. He waited for Sanji to start trembling or wailing or screaming. He waited for something, but the cook sat ramrod straight in his chair as his gaze washed over Zoro’s face.

Sanji looked into the deep brown eyes with flecks of gold and green. He looked at the tan skin pulled taught over his forehead and cheekbones. He looked at the green hair and the golden earrings. Sanji blinked himself into awareness and shook his head. He chuckled and ran his tongue over his bottom lip.

“Unrequited soul, just my luck. Well, better than stuck with a meathead like you, stupid-swordsman,” Sanji huffed as he stood. He placed an unlit cigarette in between his lips, smirked, and exited the medical room.

Zoro said nothing as the greys of the room slowly melted into the inky darkness of the night.

* * *

Life aboard the Going Merry was increasingly difficult for Zoro. Nami was a slave driver, Vivi was too close with Nami, Luffy was a walking disaster, Chopper was too innocent to ignore, Usopp was too loud, and Sanji was just… _ugh_. Ever since that night back on Nami’s island, Sanji had been nothing but hostile towards the swordsman. He was all snide remarks and boiling blood. Hell, it wasn’t Zoro’s fault that Sanji was an unrequited soul!

“Move, asshole,” Sanji demanded as he kicked Zoro’s sprawled leg. He was on his way to give Nami her afternoon drink, and Zoro was blocking his path by napping in front of the stairs.

“Go around, dipshit,” Zoro said without opening his eyes. Sanji was just stepping over the swordsman when Zoro lifted his foot and abruptly sent the cook vaulting down the stairs. Sanji tossed the tray holding the drink into the air as he flipped himself over to land on his feet on the deck below, hand stretched out. He looked smugly up at Zoro as the tray and drink landed in his palm without a drop spilled. The swordsman clicked his tongue.

“Fuck you, shit cook. You’re as pleasant as a pinecone in an asshole,” Zoro yawned. Sanji bristled.

“I’ve met a lot of pricks in my life, but you, fucker, are a cactus,” Sanji snapped and continued on his way towards Nami.

Later, the two would fight and yell and generally act like they despised each other. This was Zoro’s issue. The cook was a self-centered dick who doted on women too much and made a fool of himself all the time. He couldn’t stand the way it grated on his nerves. Slowly, Zoro got used to their routine: sleep, wake up, bicker, eat, fight, bicker, sleep, bicker, fight, eat, ignore each other, eat, bicker, fight, sleep, repeat. Day in and day out, Zoro battled Sanji’s wrath.

Sanji never resented Zoro. He never felt like he should hate Zoro for not being his soulmate. The only reason Sanji was the way he was towards the swordsman was because that was how he was in general. It was how he and Zeff had fought for years, trading insults and blows instead of actually being expressing themselves. It was just how they worked. It was all in jest, for the sake of appearances, and because it was fun.

Sanji loved the colors. He loved to just look at the different shades of foods and how they mixed on the plates. He loved how the sea looked, and now Sanji had a color to go along with his All Blue. He pictured it as the clearest water possible. Being able to see so far down it was like tinted glass. The fishes’ scales would shimmer under the sunlight pouring through the water, only mildly discolored by the blue hue. Sanji yearned to sea his sea.

During one of his daydreams, Sanji had been humming as he cleaned the galley after dinner. A lit cigarette hung from his lips as he thought of his sea and scrubbed the counters. Zoro was cleaning his swords at the galley table, quiet and focused. His ears twitched slightly when Sanji neared the table with a wet rag.

“You ever shut up, cook?” Zoro said. Sanji blinked and scowled.

“You ever polite, Neanderthal?” Sanji said. Zoro stared at him for a moment and shook his head.

“Not to stupid skirt-chasers, no,” Zoro said. His eyes focused on Sanji’s mouth. The cook’s usually pale skin looked different around his mouth somehow. As Sanji growled, hackles rising, Zoro’s eyes widened.

It was the glimmer of light again. Something different from Sanji’s usual mix of white, greys, and blacks. Sanji’s teeth were slightly discolored, different from his practically white skin. His lips were almost unnoticeably pinker and his gums even more so.

“What was that, marimo?” Sanji said. Zoro’s jaw practically hit the floor when Sanji opened his mouth. So many different shades of reds and pinks colored his tongue. Zoro rubbed his eyes and looked at Sanji’s lips intensely. They were still dusted with pink.

Zoro shot up and grabbed his swords and cleaning kit. He promptly left the galley, leaving a confused cook to think over their conversation. Zoro stopped and looked at Usopp, scanning the boy for any source of color besides grey and white and black.

Usopp bristled under the intense glare and started sweating profusely when he noticed the intensity of Zoro’s gaze. Usopp swallowed and smiled shakily.

Zoro shook his head. He must have been imagining things.

Sanji’s mouth was still colorful throughout the next day, and Zoro was going crazy. Was he seeing things? How was this possible? Kuina was gone, so how was there that one splotch of color? Why was it the cook’s fucking mouth of all things?

Zoro growled in frustration as he hefted the weight over his head. He was done. He just wasn’t going to care anymore. If this, this, this _thing_ didn’t go away soon, he’d ask Chopper.

* * *

Sanji was on cloud nine as he made his way back to the galley. Nami and Robin had both given him compliments on the drinks he had created today, gifting him with genuine smiles. Ah, he was in the presence of goddesses!

Sanji halted in his walk to the galley when he felt eyes on him. He swiveled his head to see the swordsman glaring at him while lifting the impossibly huge amount of weight over his head. Sanji’s mood soured just enough to retaliate at the imposing gaze. He stuck his tongue out and pulled down his bottom eyelid. Sanji promptly turned around, content to go back into his sanctuary when he heard a loud smack and shout. He whipped his head around again.

Zoro was hopping on one foot as he cradled the other which he had presumably dropped the weight on. Sanji snickered and entered the galley feeling refreshed and ready to cook up a monstrous feast.

Zoro cursed himself as he glanced after the cook. He still wasn’t used to the sheer _pinkness_ of the cook’s tongue. He was lucky he hadn’t broken anything in his foot otherwise he would’ve killed the bastard. When his foot stopped throbbing, Zoro attempted to put weight on it. Nothing hurt, so that was good. Zoro’s brow scrunched as he looked again at the galley door. How did Sanji not ever hurt his feet with the sheer power of his kicks? His shoes weren’t steel encrusted. They were just plain dress shoes most of the time, and the sandals Sanji wore otherwise were just scraps of leather with metal buckles. Zoro didn’t understand it. He would have to ask later.

* * *

“My feet?” Sanji said incredulously. Zoro nodded.

“Like is there some exercise you do to prevent the bones from being affected by your kicks?” Zoro asked. Sanji huffed a laugh before turning and shaking his head.

“Do I exercise my feet? Hah!” Sanji laughed. Zoro scowled.

“Forget it, love cook,” Zoro hissed as he stood to leave. Sanji’s leg shot out blocking his path.

“No, I won’t. It’s just that... nobody’s ever asked that before,” Sanji snickered. Zoro’s scowl deepened.

“I shattered every bone in both my feet when I was first learning how to control and place my kicks,” Sanji said. Zoro paused. He wasn’t expecting a full back-story explanation. “Zeff was a crap teacher sometimes, but it built up my pain tolerance and actually strengthened the bones. Once I knew how to use my style correctly, it counteracted most of the power of the impact of my kicks.”

“…oh,” Zoro said. Sanji smirked as he stood up straight.

“Intelligent response, marimo.”

“Jackass,” Zoro snarled. Sanji chuckled before he tilted his head in question.

“Why’s your hair green by the way?” Sanji said. Zoro sighed and shrugged.

“Genetics.”

“That’s hard to believe.”

“Well, sorry but the rug matches the curtains. See?” Zorro said as he pulled the waistband of his trousers down enough to show the darker green trail of hair that lead to his—

“Stupid swordsman! I don’t need to see your damn dick!” Sanji all but yelped as he lashed out and hit the swordsman square in the stomach sending him crashing into the galley door.  Zoro winced as he felt the lump forming on the back of his head.

“Shit cook! You were the one who asked!” Zoro glanced up at Sanji and stopped.

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you were gonna fucking pull your pants down!” Sanji yelled. Zoro watched as pink slowly stained Sanji’s creamy complexion. His skin was no longer an ashen pale grey, but was warmer and pinker and just _colorful_.

“Don-don’t get your panties in a twist. You didn’t even see my dick,” Zoro said. He stood and exited the galley as quick as possible. He peaked in through the porthole window. Yup, Sanji’s lips had color still, and now the rest of his skin did too! Zoro sighed. Fuck, what was this?

* * *

Zoro scanned the clear complacent waters for the umpteenth time. His watch was particularly boring tonight. The moon was full and bright, making the mesh of blacks and greys easier to define and see. Zoro had always liked the night sky, even without its color. He liked the way the stars decorated the inky velvet mesh of black. He could just sit and stare for hours at the endless splotches as his mind drifted over meaningless trains of thought. Tonight, however, Zoro was thinking of Sanji.

It had been a week since Sanji’s skin had turned to the creamy white color full of pigment and life. His skin was lighter than cake batter but darker than vanilla ice cream. The pink hue that traversed over the cook’s neck and ears when he was embarrassed was like the gradient of a sunset where the darker reds and oranges faded to light pink. The small freckles on Sanji’s high cheek bones and nose were similar to the color of almonds and chestnuts. Zoro was going crazy thinking about the stupid cook and why this had happened. It had been almost three weeks since Sanji’s mouth had up and decided to turn on the color switch.

He still hadn’t consulted Chopper about his woes. If anything, the little doctor should at least be able to tell him he wasn’t dying. If that was the case, then fuck his worries. He would need to find Mihawk again. Zoro decided to ask the doctor about his condition in the morning. Right now, he had to focus on the dark water and sky.

* * *

“You’re what now?” Chopper exclaimed. His little blue nose scrunched in confusion as he stared at Zoro.

“I’m saying that the cook’s mouth and his skin have color. Like, literally I can point out his freckles from lightest to darkest brown, and his lips are pink but not girly-pink,” Zoro sighed. Judging by Chopper’s reaction, the reindeer didn’t know anything about returning colors. Maybe he really was dying.

“Hold on, but I thought your soulmate had already died,” Chopper said as he walked towards his makeshift bookshelf.

“Yeah,” Zoro replied curtly.

“Well then that leaves only one option,” Chopper said. Zoro tensed. Here it was, his death sentence.

“On Skypeia, Robin found some really old medical texts about soulmates and unrequited souls. Well, I had just finished reading a study done by these ancient people, and the subjects experienced things very similarly to what you’re describing,” Chopper flipped through a ragged book quickly. Zoro internally groaned. Great, a disease from another civilization. There goes the hope for a cure.

“All the subjects had soulmates that had died prematurely. The only difference was that between all fifty six people, only twelve had met unrequited souls.”

“And?” Zoro asked. Why was Chopper drawing this out?

“And all the people slowly gained back their ability to see color. They all started seeing color appear on a single person’s body. The body parts varied greatly, but they were never the eyes. The eyes were always the last thing to fill in before the world started to slowly regain color,” Chopper said as he scanned over a couple of pages. Zoro gulped.

“What was so special about the people that, ya know, were the first things in color?” Zoro said. Chopper looked up from the book with wide eyes.

“Nothing. There were very little similarities in personality, and most were perfectly healthy. There was no common characteristic that was the ‘catalyst’ of the regaining of color.”

“So, then what’s happening to me?” Zoro said. Chopper smiled shyly.

“I think you’re falling in love, Zoro,” Chopper said.

“What?” Zoro said.

“Well, eventually once the subjects discussed the possible reasoning behind the developments in color, the scientists concluded that they were ‘falling for’ the other person’s attributes one by one.”

“So, I love the cook’s fucking mouth and skin?” Zoro asked. His face crumpled in confusion.

“No, not exactly. It comes from slowly growing fond of each aspect of the person. The mouth could represent his voice or the way he talks. His skin could be his vitality or strength. It all depends on how you perceive him.”

“Alright…so, right now, I’m falling in love with the cook?” Zoro said. His heart thumped loudly in his ears.

“Apparently so. I would like to monitor your vision changes as this progresses. It’s quite interesting,” Chopper smiled. 

Yeah, Zoro was dying.

* * *

Sanji was actually struggling to melt when Robin chuckled at his way of serving her specially prepared cup of coffee. Her smile was as radiant as usual and should have liquefied his bones with just a short glance, but Sanji was barely maintaining his cheerful flirtations today. His smile was tight and much more forced than it should have been for his dearest Robin, but Sanji was about to snap.

All day Zoro had been staring at him, and every time that Sanji went to reprimand him, the swordsman would have such a befuddled expression plastered on his face that Sanji forgot why he was angry. That didn’t stop him from feeling angry. Oh god, no. They’d fought so many times in the past two hours that Sanji had lost count, but the idiot marimo _hadn’t stopped staring_.

Sanji turned to stalk back to the galley, shoulders hunched and chin jutted out. Zoro’s gaze felt like an elephant was standing on his back. Sanji glared at Zoro from over his shoulder and escaped into the galley. He sighed and set a timer for four minutes. If the idiot came into the galley before the timer went off, Sanji would kick him out in the most painful way possible.

Sanji was peeling apples when the timer went off, and not even a second later the door to the galley opened. Sanji sighed as he turned the annoying ringing off and glanced at the man now standing next to him.

“Whaddya want, shitty swordsman?” Sanji said as he deposited another apple peel in a bucket and cored the fruit. Zoro said nothing but remained standing by Sanji’s side, eyes glued to the cook’s hands. Sanji mentally shrugged and continued the menial task. He wanted to get to actually making the apple pies quickly. He turned to Zoro when he heard the swordsman groan.

“Alright, what the fuck is wrong? You’re not gonna puke in my galley, marimo,” Sanji said. Zoro grimaced and ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m not gonna puke, shit cook. I was looking at your hands and your fingernails just… never mind,” Zoro started but stopped and turned away. Sanji growled and latched onto Zoro’s shoulder.

“If you’re insulting my masculinity right now because of how I treat _my hands_ , the most _important_ part of my body, then, so help me Zoro, I—” Sanji snarled, but Zoro spun around in his grasp and clutched onto Sanji’s hand.

“I would never insult your hands, stupid. Your masculinity is another story, but never your hands,” Zoro said eerily quiet. Sanji’s mouth snapped shut, and he clenched his jaw. He felt heat rising on his cheeks as he looked at Zoro’s serious gaze. Damn, Sanji really loved Zoro’s eyes.

“Then what were you going to say?” Sanji said before he registered the question. Zoro’s nose twitched as his lips flattened into a line. Sanji glanced at his hand still wrapped in Zoro’s. It was so warm and worn like rough leather. The calluses scratched at his knuckles, and the smooth expanses off scars were smooth like small streams.

“You won’t believe me,” Zoro said.

“But what if I do?” Sanji said.

“I don’t know, but I don’t think it’ll be good.”

“Try me.”

Zoro hesitated. Almost as if he was going to pull away and escape, he leaned his head away from Sanji’s face. Zoro looked at Sanji’s stormy grey eye. He sighed out his nose and licked his lips.

“Your fingernails have color,” Zoro finally said. Sanji practically froze. His eye widened when time seemed to catch up to him again.

“What?” he whispered. Could Zoro see him in color? Did that mean that he actually was his soulmate? That he wasn’t an unrequited soul?

“Well, it’s complicated. I asked Chopper about it when your lips and skin had pigment again, and he said that if I, uhm…I would just slowly start regaining my sense of color,” Zoro said. He looked at Sanji’s hand still wrapped in his own. He was startled to realize that the cook was letting him touch his hand. Sanji’s fingers tensed in his grip, and Zoro almost jerked away until the long fingers wrapped around his own.

“So you can see what I look like? What everything looks like with color?” Sanji said.

“N-no. I can only see things that I have fall—ah, I mean felt! Yes, that I’ve touched a lot or something,” Zoro babbled as heat crept up the back of his neck. “I don’t really understand it.”

“Oh,” Sanji said. His gaze fell to their locked hands.

“Why did my fingernails gain color?” Sanji said mostly to himself. He wasn’t expecting Zoro to answer the question, so Zoro’s voice intrigued him.

“I like watching you cook,” Zoro said. He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand as he looked at the pail full of apple peels. “Your hands are agile and steady like a swordsman’s. I like to imagine you would have made a decent swordsman, too. I mean, considering how well you handle meats and all.”

“Oh,” Sanji said. His entire face felt hot. Zoro had been paying that close attention to his cooking? And he just gave him a compliment? Well, sort of? He should take advantage of this more docile side. “What about my skin?”

“I think it’s your strength. When we fight, I’m always a little surprised by how solid your kicks are. And your core muscles! And your flexibility. Everything about your fighting style is interesting,” Zoro said as he absently ran his thumb up and down Sanji’s pointer finger.

“And my mouth?”

“Well, now, that one’s tricky. I dunno if it’s supposed to represent your voice or your annoying-as-hell personality,” Zoro looked side-long at Sanji. He whipped his head around, brows knit together, when he saw Sanji’s face extremely red.

“I thought it had something to do with touching not psycho-analysis!” Sanji squeaked. Zoro noted the change in pitch and stepped back, muscles tensing in preparation for an attack. He faltered when Sanji came forward and rested his head on Zoro’s shoulder. “Stupid marimo.”

Zoro strained to see Sanji’s face in the whirlwind of confusing events. Sanji never let him this close, let alone touch him. He felt a squeeze from their still joined hands. Zoro looked diagonally down his nose to glimpse Sanji’s red ear peeking out from between layers of silvery hair. Zoro gulped as he looked forward again and crushed Sanji’s face into his shoulder with his free hand. What was this? What was this? What the _fuck_ was this? Why was his heart freaking out? Why was he freaking out?  Why hadn’t he just left?

Maybe…he didn’t want to leave?

* * *

After the Groggy Ring extreme ‘Ball Game,’ Sanji’s pinstripe shirt turned blue, and the cufflinks on his jacket appeared as a tarnished gold. Zoro was baffled. Chopper had said body parts not clothing! They needed to get the little doctor back as fast as possible. Zoro was not going to go through this stupid disease or whatever without Chopper to reassure him of his sanity.

When the crew finally did re-embark on their adventure, Chopper had scribbled down Zoro’s concern and gave him only a simple “Fascinating!”

Zoro’s nose wrinkled as Sanji’s colorful clothing combinations clashed. He liked the way Sanji dressed smart in suits that fit him like a dream. The strange patterned pink and yellow shirts and bright green shorts were a different story.

“You do realize you look like a parrot right?” Zoro said on one particularly hot day. Sanji had abandoned the suit he usually wore—regardless of the weather—for a red, yellow, green, and blue concoction of colors. Sanji glared at Zoro over the bridge of his nose.

“It’s called fashion, mosshead. You should try it sometime,” Sanji said.

“Fashion? What part of ‘Let’s see how many colors I can fit on one piece of clothing’ is fashion?” Zoro said incredulously. Sanji blinked and his face turned red. Whether it was out of embarrassment or anger Zoro wasn’t sure. The resulting drop kick, however, Zoro was sure would happen. After brawling for a while in the intense heat, the fight ending in a draw, Sanji stuck a cigarette in his mouth and huffed as he turned to return to the galley.

“But for some reason you still like my fashion sense, huh? Marimo?” Sanji called over his shoulder as he reached the door. Zoro straightened. Sanji looked at him over his shoulder, eyes half closed and face relaxed in a neutral expression. Zoro looked up at Sanji and pondered his statement.

No, he didn’t so much like the clothes he wore as he liked the confidence Sanji had when he wore them. It was like he was daring someone to say he couldn’t do as he pleased, that he couldn’t look sharp and sophisticated one minute and be the epitome of all dad jokes the next. It was his swagger, his gait, and the way the clothes just seemed to be part of his stupidly annoying ‘I do what I want’ personality.

Sanji’s ears reddened as his lips tightened, and he whipped his head back around and entered the galley. Zoro went to take a nap in the shade till dinner.

* * *

Zoro and Sanji had fallen into a routine by the time they had set sail on the Sunny after the Enies Lobby adventure. They would gripe and fight and argue just as much as before their little conversation about colors. They would compete in catching sea kings and in any game Luffy or Usopp roped them into. They paraded about as if snarling and yelling were the only interactions worthy of the other. After dinner, however, Zoro had permanently taken over dishwashing duty. Sanji brought up sake and onigiri to the crow’s nest during Zoro’s afternoon training and watch.

Sanji had started taking his smoke breaks out by the stern, leaning on the railing. Zoro would either be napping or meditating in the privacy of the space that was hidden by the mikan grove and the galley and beneath the bulb that was the bathhouse, library, and observatory. Sometimes they bantered if Zoro returned to consciousness, but mostly Sanji smoked looking out at the vast blue sea behind them as Zoro snored lightly by his side. On rare occasions, Sanji would card his fingers through Zoro’s hair. He never remembered doing so because he was lost in thought during these periods. He dreamed of how clear and bright All Blue’s waters would be and all the different recipes he would make. Zoro would wake to find the cook looking wistfully out at sea as he played with the green spikes. Zoro would say nothing and close his eyes again.

Sanji’s hair had changed to a shimmering blond not long after the crew had left Water 7. Zoro had distantly recalled seeing a flash of the gold atop the cook’s head before at some point in time. He didn’t pay much attention to the new development. Hair was hair after all.

It was when Sanji’s goatee changed to a darker blot of brownish-goldish strands that Zoro had noticed how much of the cook had filled in with color. He knew what colors the cook’s cheeks changed when he was emotional. He knew that the cook sunburned easily with his pale skin. He knew the cook’s lips were lighter than any girl’s he could remember from his childhood. He knew the cook loved his own wacky clothing choices and fine suits. He knew the cook’s fingernails were tinted pink when the man was working with heat in the kitchen. He knew the color of his veins and the color of his hair under the late morning sun and after a drenching rain. He knew that the cook’s teeth had stayed perfectly white—well, for teeth—even though he smoked as much as he did. He knew every possible color that graced the cook’s body except for the colors that swirled in his eyes. Zoro lamented that maybe Sanji just had grey eyes. Quite believable, but considering the world still remained in shades of black and white, Zoro figured he was still missing something.

It was at Thriller Bark, in front of Kuma when Zoro realized what he’d missed. All those times that Sanji was at his back during a battle his animosity and strength were what Zoro admired. All those times Sanji stuck firmly to his beliefs and morals, no matter how stupid they were, were when Zoro envied the cook’s resilience—even if he complained about his pigheadedness. All those meals where Sanji dutifully attended to his crew and was happy by simply making them happy were what Zoro considered the cook’s kindness. All those times and all those different memories floated in the back of his mind like a movie playing in the back ground as he watched Sanji direct Kuma’s attention to himself. When the film turned into static noise at Sanji’s declaration to kill him instead, Zoro’s heart stopped.

Zoro was focused on Sanji’s form, his hair glimmering with sweat and streaks of blood, his suit dusty and splotchy with blood as well, and his slivers of wrists sticking out of his pockets and under the tarnished and scuffed cufflinks trembling with the effort to stand and maintain a cool visage. Zoro gazed over the line of the cook’s back and the length of his legs. He was memorizing this figure. Even in hell, or where-the-fuck-ever the dead go, Zoro would remember this man. This strong, confident, stubborn, short-tempered, kind-hearted, infuriating, stupid man. This man that had snuck his way into Zoro’s life during their time at sea. This man that was everything at one moment and was nothing the next. This man that he had grown to begrudgingly love. This man that he taunted and fought with daily. This man that had unexpectedly brightened his colorless world. This shit cook. He would always remember his Sanji.

As Zoro stood and slammed the hilt of his katana into Sanji’s side, he realized he’d missed the most important thing. He’d missed Sanji. He’d thought of everything that could make up the cook’s personality and looks and habits and emotions, colors filling in every possible part of the cook. But he’d missed the whole picture. He’d missed the fact that everything made up a part of who Sanji was, but that didn’t matter unless he wanted Sanji as a _whole_.

Sanji’s hand shook as he gripped Zoro’s arm, but Zoro refused to look at Sanji’s face as the man slipped to the ground. Zoro knew Sanji’s eyes were shining with spite, betrayal, and anger, but if his eyes had color in them, then Zoro didn’t know what would happen. He didn’t know how he could die after seeing Sanji’s eyes.

“…Bastard…!” Sanji hissed as he finally fell to the ground, unconscious.

With every smothering wave of pain Zoro felt rock through his core, he thought of Sanji’s light grey eyes, speckled with all different shades of silver and black. Zoro screamed as a violent shock attacked the base of his lower spine. Maybe they were green. Another stab to his shoulder blade. Maybe hazel? His throat was burning. What about blue? His toes felt like they were being ripped off one by one. Or something outrageous like lavender. Zoro thought his heart was going to burst from the stress of all the pain.

_“The eyes are the windows to the soul.”_

Zoro smirked before coughing up blood, core muscles protesting loudly. Zoro steeled himself as another part of the bubble-like pain floated towards him. He grit his teeth as he watched the blob near him. He’d have to survive this if he wanted to see the color of Sanji’s soul, now, wouldn’t he? He reached out.

* * *

Zoro blinked blearily awake in a dark cavernous-looking place. The first thing that occured to him? He was dead. Definitely dead. But then Zoro looked around and heard the snores and snorts of many sleeping people and spied Usopp’s springy curls and long nose. He found Franky’s large arms, Nami and Robin’ slender frames, and Luffy’s knotted limbs in another corner. Sanji was with Usopp and Chopper upon closer inspection. There were many other snoring bodies. So he was not dead. That was good. Zoro fell asleep again, dreaming of a vague memory.

He was standing with no feeling in his legs or arms. The pain had overridden most of his senses and all he could smell is blood. His vision was blurry, but he made out Sanji’s colorful hair and curly brow alright. He scarcely recalled their conversation, the words just white noise in his dream. He thought he remembered looking at Sanji’s eye and seeing something remarkable, but it was unable to be recalled because everything fades to black as Zoro’s memory ends.

Luckily for Zoro, the next time he woke up, Sanji was nowhere to be seen. Zoro groaned as he righted himself and stood, limbs stiff and head pounding. He looked around the decrepit space and gathered his swords. He went left and down some stairs. When Zoro finally stopped walking around aimlessly, he spotted Brooke in front of a large grave. He prayed for his lost sword, if that was necessary or not, and learned of the skeleton’s new status in their crew.

“Hey, Brooke?” Zoro said as the two stood to go find the others.

“Yes, Zoro-san?” Brooke said.

“Do you see color still even though you’re dead?” Zoro said as he paused in their walk towards their crewmates. Brooke cocked his head to the side.

“Color? For a while I was unable to, but, eventually, it returned. Why? I do not know nor do I understand. But seeing as I am a skeleton and have no eyes I can’t really see anything! Yohohohoho! Skull joke!” Brooke guffawed. Zoro rolled his eyes and continued marching forward.

“Zoro-san, it’s this way.”

* * *

 Sanji’s cigarette almost fell out of his mouth when Zoro walked into the room with Brooke, both laughing cordially. The cook dropping his cigarette was rare, even in battle the death stick hung from his lips without so much as a tremble of movement. So when Sanji scrambled to keep the cigarette between his lips, he was shocked to say the least.

Sanji was having difficulty deciding whether to feel overjoyed that the stupid swordsman was alive and kicking as usual or to be absolutely enraged by his actions. The way he’d let Sanji simply fall to the ground after that cheap shot still stung his pride. Sanji was still contemplating which face to put on when Zoro’s eyes found him. He promptly turned around and grit his teeth around his smoke. Fuck, he was a coward. He couldn’t avoid the swordsman forever. For right now, he’d have to settle for a minor distraction and hurried off to attend to Robin and Nami.

Zoro’s memory was slightly foggy from before Kuma’s trial. He recalled Sanji appearing and offering his life in exchange for Luffy’s—and inadvertently his as well. He remembered the blow he delivered. He remembered the pain, but something was missing, something important. Zoro would have to see to the matter later. Meditation would help clear his mind and give him time to recuperate.

Having returned to the Sunny and spending a solid three hours in meditation, Zoro rose from the deck and looked towards the galley. A hazy realization surfaced and Zoro strode forward, oblivious to the light tint to the wood of the ship and the green of the grass. Zoro pushed the door to the galley open and immediately found the cook cutting melons, skillfully slicing the rinds in half and coring the fruit in what seemed like seconds. Zoro’s eyes followed the curve of the cook’s back and stared at the golden sheen of his hair.

“Ya gonna stand there all day, marimo?” Sanji said without even glancing Zoro’s way. “I don’t want any bugs in here.”

Zoro said nothing as he silently approached the cook. Something was different. He knew it was. The faint orange from the cantaloupes went unnoticed as Zoro squinted suspiciously. He couldn’t see much of Sanji’s face from behind the curtain of bangs.

“Dinner’ll be ready in an hour, so if you want something to eat now then tough shit,” Sanji said. Zoro didn’t reply and just crept closer. He was about a foot away from Sanji when the cook put down his knife and leaned on his hands against the counter. He didn’t look at Zoro.

“What?” Sanji said. His voice lacked the usual viscosity. Zoro didn’t know why he seemed so entranced by Sanji. He didn’t know why he absolutely had to look at him. He had to see something. Was it his hands? No, Zoro had looked at the cook’s hands for so long he could probably find every vein and small scar blindfolded. Was it his hair? No, he was just looking at it. So, it was something to do with his face? Well, his hair was in the way, so maybe…

“Look at me, shit cook,” Zoro said. Sanji’s neck tensed, and he looked the opposite direction at the other kitchen wall. Zoro sighed. He always had to be so fucking disagreeable.

“C’mon, curly, just look at me,” Zoro tried again. Sanji scoffed.

“Why should I? You didn’t even give _me_ a second glance when you accepted that bastard’s trial,” Sanji said.

“What? You’re angry that I didn’t let you die?” Zoro said.

“No, you dumb-as-a-stump oaf!” Sanji hissed as he slammed his hand down on the counter. Zoro looked at the back of Sanji’s neck confusedly.

“Is it about me kicking your ass?” Zoro said.

“It was a cheap shot, marimo!” Sanji hissed. Fuck, why was he so angry all of a sudden? Couldn’t that stupid swordsman just leave him the hell alone?

“Well, I won’t ever understand your pissy moods unless you tell me what the fuck I did!” Zoro said. His eyes narrowing dangerously.

“Understand?” Sanji said quietly. Zoro groaned. Now he’d done it. “Understand?” Sanji repeated much louder.

“Yeah, shithead. I don’t understand what’s got your panties in a twist!”

“You won’t ever understand!”

“Not if you won’t even give me a chance to!”

“For fick’s sake you asshole! I don’t—FINE. You wanna understand? Then listen up, moss-for-brains, cause I’m only gonna say this once,” Sanji growled at the kitchen wall. He refused to give into Zoro’s earlier demand. “I didn’t care that if you died all of my colors would go away even though I’m a fucking unrequited soul.”

Zoro inhaled sharply. “You really hate me that much?” he managed.

“No, fucker, let me finish. I didn’t care that whatever you talked about that day in the galley had given me the slightest bit of hope that I wasn’t going to be without love for my whole life. I didn’t give a shit that you might’ve somehow turned out to be my soulmate. That didn’t matter in that moment,” Sanji said. The words becoming calmer the more they spilled from his lips.

“When I saw you standing in front of that bastard, I thought my heart would stop. You? Roronoa-Fucking-Zoro dying? Hah! But there you stood, planning on taking Luffy’s burden without a second thought as to all of us who you would leave behind.” _Leaving me behind._ Zoro took a heavy step forward.

“I couldn’t let that happen not when you meant—not when I hadn’t even had all my hopes crushed of you ever being my soulmate. So I resolved myself to not only give up my dream and my life, for Luffy, but for you too, dammit. And then you denied me that moment? I was so angry I didn’t even think about how you were such a big part of my life now,” Sanji said. He hated himself for getting angry over his wounded pride in that one last moment of consciousness.

“So when I woke up, feeling like the world would swallow me up because you were _gone_ and I saw you standing there covered in blood and unable to move an inch, I realized that I didn’t care that you were or weren’t my soulmate. I didn’t care that we weren’t meant to be or that we weren’t madly in love. The only thing I cared about—had ever cared about—was that you—,” Sanji’s voice wavered and broke as he gulped for air like he was drowning. Zoro took another heavy step forward.

“Was that you were safe, and alive, and—and by my side. That I could just have you, the annoying bastard you are, here every day,” Sanji said. His eyes were watering. So that’s why he was angry. He wasn’t angry at Zoro or Kuma. No, Sanji was angry at himself for not seeing how much Zoro mattered to him until he was almost taken from him. “ _Fuck._ ” Sanji breathed. His mouth felt like cotton, and his nose was starting run, but he didn’t shed a tear. He lifted a hand to wipe away the excess moisture, but Zoro’s calloused hand gripped his wrist tightly.

“Look at me, cook,” Zoro said. His voice was thick and demanding. Sanji tilted away again. “Come on, _Sanji_ ,” Zoro said. He pulled Sanji’s arm around to spin him towards him.

Sanji fell into Zoro’s grasp easily enough with one of Zoro’s hands on his wrist and the other on the small of his back. His head, however, was tilted toward the ground and still obscured his face from Zoro’s prying eyes.

“Stubborn bastard,” Zoro grumbled. “You really think I could’ve watched you die? You? Of all people?” Sanji’s back stiffened beneath Zoro’s palm.

“Why do you even care?” he said.

“Because you’re the shit cook, the guy that gets under my skin practically every second of every damn day, and the moron that bugs the shit out of me,” Zoro said.

“Oh gee, thanks,” Sanji said. His voice lacked most of the usual sarcastic bite.

“Oh, shut up, dickhead. I’m trying my best alright? It’s because you’re so fucking persistent, and stubborn, and snarky, and annoying that I couldn’t possibly let you go and fucking die without lifting a hand to stop you.”

“Did you even consider how I would feel? Waking up and finding you practically dead where you stood? Did you even think about how _awful_ that would be?” Sanji hissed out between his teeth.

“Would you just listen, curlicue?”

“Shut the fuck up, stupid swordsman!”

“Dartboard-brow!”

“Shitty marimo!”

“Shitty love-cook!”

“Damn muscle-head!” Sanji yelled as his anger overtook the squeezing pain in his chest. The burn of fury was much more familiar. He looked up at Zoro to snarl in his face.

Zoro was glowering at the top of the cook’s head when Sanji suddenly glared at him, anger tinting his cheeks and curling his lips, and Zoro’s jaw dropped. When Zoro saw the color swarming to life in Sanji’s eye the blurry part of his memory cleared, and the realization hit him twice as hard. He was in love with Sanji, every single part of him. Zoro, however, wasn’t focused on the mushy-gushy feelings at the moment.

He was lost in Sanji’s eye, and, without thinking, released Sanji’s wrist and shoved the mop of blond hair away so he could see both eyes. Zoro stared hard at the two matching orbs. He didn’t have enough words to describe the colors swirling in the cook’s irises. They were lighter than any bright summer sky, deeper than any lake, fiercer than any roaring river, and clearer than the Calm Belts surrounding the Grand Line. Zoro tried to memorize every speck of silver floating in the watery abysses. Zoro huffed out a laugh. Of course they were blue. It was Sanji, the cook of the sea.

“What the fuck?” Sanji said. His cheeks reddened even more in anger and embarrassment at being stared at and having his other eyebrow revealed. Zoro shook his head slightly.

“Nothing. Just thinking that the color suits you,” Zoro said. Sanji stiffened.

“What?” Was this the same type of thing as the last color conversation?

“It’s like your eyes contain All Blue’s waters,” Zoro said. Sanji blinked and looked away, flustered and confused—but mostly flustered.

It was then that Zoro noticed the specks of cantaloupe blood on the counter, and he looked around the room. A broad grin spread across his face, and Sanji squinted at him skeptically from his captive position.

“Now what?” Sanji said. Zoro returned to look at him.

“I can see the colors,” Zoro said. Sanji’s heart sped up.

“You mean that—?” Sanji trailed off, not wanting to allow his hope to rise up and only crush him later.

“I don’t know if I’m your soulmate or whatever, stupid fool,” Zoro said.

Sanji was glad that he hadn’t finished his sentence because his heart clenched painfully.

“And I honestly don’t care because all I know is that I only want you.” Zoro let Sanji’s bangs fall back into place as he grabbed the man’s chin and crushed their mouths together.

Sanji’s brain short circuited for as long as the chaste kiss lasted. When Zoro pulled away, he snickered at Sanji’s stunned expression. Sanji surged forward. His heart was hammering as his mind raced, and he slammed into Zoro. This was so much better than seeing fucking color or having Nami smile at him or habing Robin wear a sinful bathing suit. When they parted again, Sanji rested his forehead against Zoro’s and looked into his dark eyes. Zoro smirked.

“I guess it’s true that the eyes are the windows to the soul, huh?” Zoro said. Sanji snickered.

“Just goes to prove that you’re full of shit,” Sanji said.

“Hey!” Zoro yelled and shoved the blond away before drawing his sword, walking to the door, and ushering the cook outside into one of their many brawls.

Chopper would be angry later when Zoro forgot to mention the new development, but the fight that ended in a hot-as-fuck make-out session was totally worth the little reindeer’s wrath any day.


	12. Minty Fresh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you guys this would be a quickie! I dunno how to describe this as anything but something stupid and pointless. Whatever, I can see them doing something stupid like this anyway, so enjoy!

Luffy was so excited. He’d never gotten to witness a battle like this between Zoro and Sanji before. Nami had collected bets on who would win the duel. Robin, Brooke, and Chopper had bet on Sanji, and everyone else remained on Zoro’s side. Luffy hadn’t made a bet on either because he was too thrilled to think about anything other than watching the challenge. Oh, this was going to be so good!

Sanji and Zoro sat across from each other at the counter in the galley with their nakama surrounding them. The two were glaring daggers at each other across the objects placed in the middle of them. Somehow, their normal bickering and fighting had diverged into a strange challenge to see who could eat the most breath mints. Neither remembered how they had come to such a ridiculous battle.

“Alright, boys. Remember, loser drinks a pint of orange juice,” Nami said. She held up a glass bottle of the liquid with a devilish smile. “Ready?”

Both warriors reached for their gallon jugs of mints without breaking the intense stare off. Sanji grabbed a handful of the white globes. Zoro stuck both of his hands in his jug.

“You’re gonna get your ass whooped, shit cook,” Zoro smirked. His confidence and cockiness practically rolled off him in waves. Sanji snarled.

“In your dreams, marimo,” Sanji said. He was gonna wipe the floor with this bastard. Luffy gripped his bar stool tightly as he rocked in anticipation and smiled widely. Nami rolled her eyes.

“GO!” Nami yelled. Instantaneously, the boys shoveled as many mints as they could into their mouths and chewed furiously.

Zoro swallowed first and took another handful. It wasn’t as bad as he had thought it was going to be. The sugar that laced the slight burning freshness from the spheres was the worst part. He gnawed on his next handful.

Sanji couldn’t force himself to chew as fast as Zoro. His unconsciousness told him to savor the taste and texture. The cold tingling was annoying, but Sanji pressed on. He was a chef. He’d tasted and experienced so many putrid dishes in his life that the slight discomfort from mints—of all things—was nothing.

“Giving up yet, shitty swordsman?” Sanji growled around his fourth handful. His mouth was burning—absolutely on fire at this point. Zoro glared at him.

“Why? Getting desperate, curlicue?” Zoro said. His tongue protested against the words. So he’d been wrong in assuming this was easy. Every handful of the things added to the chilly fire—if that was even possible—inside his mouth.

Usopp grimaced at the task the two idiots were competing at. It was gross, and it looked painful. Sanji looked more composed than Zoro, but the nervous bouncing of his right leg indicated otherwise. Zoro’s brows were twitching erratically. Usopp sighed. He didn’t think this would end well for anyone. Other than Nami of course.

Sanji had made it through half of his gallon when he noticed the swordsman’s slower pace and hands clenching into fists. He snickered to himself, fighting off the insistent urge to stop and run for something to counteract the mint. He was so gonna win this because, after all, both his lovely flowers had bet on him, and he would not let them down.

The roof of Zoro’s mouth felt like it had been coated in drying lava. He’d figured that because he had to train his jaw to grip and hold tightly onto his sword that his palate had become calloused from all of the ungodly weights and other training devices he put in his mouth. He growled lowly as he chewed on another handful of mints.

Luffy was enthralled. Both men were slowly turning pink form the effort to control their movements and fight against the pain. It wasn’t as entertaining as their usual combat, but it was amusing nonetheless.

“Fucking shit,” Sanji hissed. He looked over at Zoro’s gallon. They were both about half way done their mints. Sanji hated wasting any type of food like this. He grinned evilly as an idea occurred to him. As Zoro leaned back in his chair to try to force himself to swallow, Sanji rummaged around in his gallon, sliding most of the spheres over to the side closest to Zoro. The shift in position made it seem that Sanji had much more to eat than Zoro did.

When Zoro looked back at the cook’s gallon, unaware of the change, he smirked at the stressed looking cook. All he had to do was wait the cook out. He had this in the bag.

Sanji noticed Zoro started picking at the balls and took two large handfuls, shoved them into his mouth and chewed with a determination he usually reserved for battles against badass enemies and not stupid plant-heads. He groaned theatrically and sat back in his chair. His throat was on fire.

“I’m done,” Sanji said. He handed the jug to Franky who placed it on a scale. They were using weight as the measuring device because counting individual mints would take too long. Zoro shoved his jar over as well, sighing triumphantly.

“The winner is,” Franky started. He trailed off as he waited for the scales to calculate. He turned back to his nakama.

“Cook-bro! Yeow!” Franky said as he struck a pose that had him pointing at Sanji ridiculously. He slapped the cook on the back, and Sanji smirked and tapped his forefinger against his head at the glowering Zoro. Zoro looked over at the cook’s jug and could see the way the mints built up into a stack to make it look like more were there than there actually were.

“Fuck you,” Zoro grumbled at Sanji as Nami placed the pint of orange juice on the table in front of the swordsman. Nami quickly collected and distributed the prize money. Luffy giggled excitedly. Luffy had learned all too well from many breakfasts where he had chugged glasses of the pulpy substance after brushing his teeth that oranges and mints didn’t taste good together. This would be funny.

Zoro grabbed the bottle and, looking Sanji directly in the eye, guzzled it down quickly. He smacked his lips and slammed the bottle down on the table. It hadn’t been so gross. Sanji snickered. Zoro glared at him angrily before his face crumpled in disgust. Oh, fucking shit on a stick. This was _nasty_.

Luffy laughed at Zoro’s revolted expression. He knew this was worth watching. Oh, this was almost as good as when Sanji and Zoro played games with him and Usopp. Almost.

“This is worse than your food, cook,” Zoro managed. Sanji growled dangerously.

“My food is fan-fucking-tastic and you know it,” Sanji said. Zoro shrugged. He rubbed his tongue against his cheek, trying—in vain—to get rid of the nasty taste.

“Well, I won, shit-face. So, there. Chew on that for a while,” Sanji huffed. He crossed his arms and looked down his nose in satisfaction. Zoro chuckled darkly.

“I don’t think I will,” Zoro said. Sanji hummed in question before Zoro lunged across the counter and pulled Sanji forward by the back of his neck.

“Fuck?” was all Sanji got out before Zoro slammed their mouths together. He demanded entrance into the cook’s mouth by using the startled curse to his advantage. He pressed his tongue between Sanji’s slightly parted lips and licked his way inside. He poked and prodded every spot he could. Zoro didn’t care about the shrieks of laughter and surprise from his crewmates. He was focused on one thing: revenge. Zoro pulled away from Sanji’s kiss bruised lips, content with having practically been licking at the man’s tonsils. Sanji looked spaced out when Zoro pulled away, cheeks red, eyes half-lidded, and a small string of drool connected him to Zoro. The dreamy look quickly flipped to one of revulsion when the cook finally understood his reasoning.

“This shit is fucking rancid,” Sanji scrunched his nose up and bared his teeth.

“An eye for an eye, love-cook,” Zoro said. Luffy laughed loudly.

Luffy cackled at the irony. He dashed out the galley content and giggling to himself over his epiphany, but he was ready for more fun games. Luffy had to make Zoro and Sanji duel more often if it was this interesting.

Sanji slapped Zoro upside his head before storming out the galley. Zoro looked after him until Nami gave a low whistle and wiggled her eyebrows at him. Zoro promptly flipped her off.


	13. Letters from a Dead Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys, this is my attempt at angst. I've been writing nothing but fluff and stupid stuff recently so have some of this. I think it sobered me up a bit, considering everything's just been happy-go-lucky. Anyway, I hope y'all like it.

Zoro growls at his ward. His prison camp is dirty and scrawny, but not as horrific as many others. In that respect, he’s lucky. Zoro was the Major in control of the 115th squadron. He had led his troops through the skies, shooting down enemy aircraft and dropping bombs. Zoro was proud of his squadron, and he still was even after they were captured during the largest dogfight the war had ever seen. Zoro didn’t know where most of his men had ended up. Some were probably dead.

The only thing that made life bearable in the camp was the thought of home. Zoro sludged his way through his manual labor in the camp’s coal mine with memories swirling in his mind’s eye. He remembered all the warmth and joy he had experienced with his friends before the war. He remembered the parties Luffy would throw and the drinking contests he had with Nami. He remembered the yellow paint on the walls, the polish of the hardwood floors, and the smell of good food. Zoro was determined to see those again when he got home. These daydreams pushed him through the work he was given.

At night, however, Zoro dreamed of his home. His blue two story house was filled to the brim with comfortable furniture, art from Usopp, simple artifacts from Robin, and cooking supplies. He dreamed of the scent of spices filling the air and the sounds of soft humming coming from the kitchen. The kitchen and dining area were perhaps the only clean and modern areas of the home because that was how the cook liked them. Zoro could picture himself wandering towards the delectable smelling food and the warm body attending to it. He could feel the soft cotton of the cook’s shirt beneath his arms and hands as he wrapped himself around him and kissed the slightly salty skin of his neck. He could hear the chuckle the cook would give in reply, and he could feel the warmth of the cook’s hand on his. But then Zoro would wake up and face another day of hard mining. He saved his memories of the cook for nighttime.

Zoro was concerned about the cook. Was he sleeping much? Was he overworking himself? Zoro wanted to be next to the cook and scold him for his usual behaviors. Zoro remembered one late afternoon that he’d been MIA for about six months. Did the air force send word home that he was dead? The cook most certainly wouldn’t believe that he’d gone off and died.

Would he?

Zoro tensed on his make-shift cot of wood and thin blankets. What if the cook had been told formally that he had died? Zoro looked around the room of snoring shadowy figures. He shook his head. No, the cook would believe in him. Zoro leaned back and closed his eyes once more. Hopefully the blasted war would be over within the next couple of weeks. The enemy forces were drawing back from their territory slowly but surely. Zoro fell asleep clinging to his hope.

* * *

 

He had been wrong about the war ending in weeks. Zoro was a prisoner of war for two years. He’d undergone extensive physical labor with a poor diet. He had consequently lost probably all of the little body fat he had to begin with and some of his muscle as well. It wasn’t only his stature that had changed, but he’d also lost his left eye in a mining accident. He was surprised he’d survived after the poor medical treatment—he’d missed Chopper dearly during the horrific process. But it was finally over. The war had been won, and they were being released. Zoro was headed home to his nakama.

And to his cook.

* * *

 

“Zoro!” Luffy shrieked as he practically mauled people to jump to the front of the crowd waiting to greet the returning veterans. Zoro sighed as he smiled fondly at the younger boy. He’d grown taller and more unruly in the past two years, but his childish personality had remained intact.

During the rib-cracking hug, Zoro spotted Nami’s shock of bright orange hair weaving towards him. Soon his nakama emerged to join in on the entangled hug. Zoro was laughing and shouting at all the touching and hugging and “Welcome home” greetings. Zoro looked at his overjoyed companions quickly, and in confusion, realized the cook wasn’t present.

“Hey, where’s the shit cook? Is he working at the Baratie today?” Zoro asked no one in particular.

Suddenly, the rowdy atmosphere dropped, smiles turning downward, gazes looking other places, and postures closing off. It was quiet around Zoro—something very disconcerting coming from his nakama. He heard the joyous cries of other veterans being swarmed by their family and friends, but everything seemed to still and recede as he looked around the semi-circle. When his eye landed on Luffy’s serious face, Zoro felt his heart clench.

“Where’s the cook, Luffy?” Zoro said. Luffy looked at him for a moment, face melting into something similar to the pain Luffy had felt when Ace died. Zoro swallowed. Something bad had happened. Luffy sucked in a breath through his nose and puffed out his chest for a second. He deflated again quickly, but looked up at Zoro with resolve.

“Zoro, I think you should see for yourself.” Yep, definitely something bad.

* * *

 

Zoro expected to be led to a hospital when the group refused to say anything about the cook’s whereabouts. He was confused when they merely led them to his old blue house, unlocked the door with the key that was under the mat, and entered the cluttered abode. The smell of spices and musk warmed Zoro’s stomach. He was home. All he needed was to find the cook and everything would be complete again.

Luffy led him to the study Sanji used to hold his recipes, taxes, and anything paperwork for the Baratie. Usually every surface was clear of clutter and dust. Every paper was filed away in binders and books in a bookshelf in the corner so that the desk facing the large window looked peaceful, and the dresser was good for storing food on when it was hectic.

Now the room was covered in piles of papers. Most stacks were neatly put together, all uniformly placed, while others were smacked together haphazardly. One of the piles had spilled over onto the floor creating a waterfall of paper containing the cook’s flowing script. Small paper airplanes floated from strings attached to the ceiling at varying heights.

Zoro turned to look at Luffy from his place in the doorway. Sanji had banned the monkey boy from entering the room because he always left it a mess. Luffy looked at him with his hand on the doorknob.

“Luffy, what is all this?” Zoro said. Luffy blinked and looked around the room for a second before sighing.

“This is basically Sanji.”

* * *

 

_Dear Zoro,_

_You haven’t responded to my previous letter, so fuck you. So I, generous glorious me, have decided to write you again. Be thankful, marimo, that I’m taking time out of my day to write to you._

_Zeff’s been driving me bat-shit crazy at the Baratie lately. He keeps yelling at me about this persistent cough I have. I’ve been wearing a mask and, it’s not contagious, so I don’t see what the problem is. I hate the old geezer. He won’t let me cook. I’ve been stuck with the paperwork. AGAIN. Ugh…_

_I wish you were home. I need a good spar. Plus, making food for only one person is boring. I have been inviting Luffy and the gang over, but the amount of food is burning through my paychecks, so that hasn’t been happening often._

_Hey, maybe reply this time?_

_-Sanji_

_Dear Zoro,_

_Alright, jackass. Two can play at this game. Let me just say—FUCK YOU._

_-Sanji_

_Dear Zoro,_

_Where are you right now? What’s wrong? Please tell me you’re alive, dipshit. Come on, marimo. I’m worried._

_-Sanji_

_Dear Zoro,_

_Some guy named David came by the house today. He told me you were MIA. He brought me back all my letters, your belongings, and basically a death acknowledgement. It’s all bullshit. I know you’re still alive, jackass. So hurry up and come home so I don’t have to write anymore letters._

_-Sanji_

_P.S. I also made David a lovely homemade meal and sent him on his way._ 


_Dear Zoro,_

_The Baratie’s been super busy lately, so sorry all my letters—that you aren’t getting—are so short. So many summer reservations have been made, and the shitty geezer’s been pushing me to make new summer time recipes. I have tons of ideas of course, but I’m missing my taste tester and his stupidly blunt critiques for prototypes._

_I just trained you to start understanding the way food tastes, and now you’re going come back home and not know the difference between goat cheese and cottage cheese. AGAIN. Hurry up and come back before all my efforts goes to waste, shithead._

_-Sanji_

_Dear Zoro,_

_It was Nami-san’s birthday today. I made her the most succulent dinner and desert comprised of her favorites. Oh, it was splendid. She smiled so brightly and patted my head. Ah, mellorine! What glorious beings women are! I still think Nami-san misses you though. She needed a better drinking partner than the unworthy trash at Franky’s bar. Scum._

_I hope you’re eating enough. Even if that is wishful thinking, I still hope you are. A full stomach is the best thing to have during stressful situations—like, oh say, war. I miss you, shithead._

_-Sanji_

_Dear Zoro,_

_My shins have started bothering me recently. Maybe it’s just because the weather is getting colder with the start of September. I think it’s nothing, so I won’t see Chopper about it. No point in worrying the little bugger with stupid paranoia. I’ve probably just been on my feet too much with the end of summer rush. People love to go to the beach before the chill of fall settles in._

_Is it cold where you are? I doubt you have any coat of any kind. Don’t be stupid and go training out in the snow again. Save your strength, marimo. Kick some ass, and come back home. I’ll make some onigiri when you get back. Sound good?_

_-Sanji_

_Dear Zoro,_

_The bed’s too big for just me. It’s all cold and annoying to make when I wash the sheets. The house is too quiet, too. I miss your obnoxious snoring sometimes. I haven’t been sleeping that well, and my legs still hurt. When will you come back to me? I’m tired._

_-Sanji_

_Dear Zoro,_

_I hate raking leaves. It’s awful. My hands start to blister and then the wind comes and FUCKING BLOWS AWAY MY PILES. I’ve raked the goddamn lawn four times. TODAY. Motherfuck, Zoro. How did you and Luffy manage this? Especially with Luffy and Chopper jumping into the gigantic piles? I wish you were here to do your chores.  Making hot chocolate for one is boring and lonesome._

_Come home soon,_

_Sanji_

_Dear Zoro,_

_Happy Thanksgiving! I made a fucking fantastic feast for the crew. Nami loved my hard apple cider. It wasn’t as sweet as normal cider, so I think you’d have liked it too. Robin helped me in the kitchen by making salad and bringing out the platters. Everyone was enamored with the old record player Franky had recently fixed. He brought it as a gift, and Zeff gave me his old records. Zoro, you’d love it. It’s all crackly and tinny sometimes, but when the needle hits the record just right—oh, it’s so glorious. I’d finally be able to teach you how to waltz to some classy music._

_Luffy and I broke the wish bone this year. I got the bigger piece. You know what I wished for? I’ll tell you because you won’t actually receive this, so it won’t be breaking the wishing rules._

_I wished for you to be home._

_-Sanji_

_Dear Zoro,_

_I miss you._

_-Sanji_

_Dear Zoro,_

_I want to hear your voice again. I want to see your stupid green hair again. I want to touch you again. I want you to eat my food again. I want to argue with you again. I want to cuddle, and sleep, and hug, and kiss, and say “Good morning” or “Welcome home” again. I want you here again._

_Love,_

_Sanji_

_Dear Zoro,_

_We had the first snow of the year today. Franky came by and plowed the driveway. It was a big help because Luffy dragged me into sledding down the Hill of Doom. Remember the first time Luffy took us there? I told you to lean right to avoid a tree, and you—being the directionally challenged IDIOT you are—leaned left. We had to jump off the sled to avoid crashing into the damn tree, and you grabbed onto me as we rolled and tumbled down the slope. When we stopped, your hair was matted with clumps of snow, and your face was so red. It was so ridiculous that I couldn’t help but laugh. Usopp yelled at us for kissing in the snow and too much PDA. Wish I could send you a scarf or gloves.  I bet you only have the shirt on your back and your worn-out combat boots. Don’t lose a finger to frostbite, imbecile. I don’t want to have to go easy on you when we’re sparring because you can’t hold your swords right anymore. Come back in one piece._

_Love,_

_Sanji_

_Dear Zoro,_

_Luffy has invaded our house for the week. Why? Because I found a poor little lost kitten out in the snow. She’s absolutely precious. She’s no bigger than a teacup and is a mix of oranges, browns, and blacks. I think she’s a calico cat, so I named her Cali. I put up lost cat posters, but Luffy likes her a bunch. So much so that he won’t leave the house. AT ALL. Nami even threat—I mean, attempted to persuade him. I have two new companions in our bed. Luffy won’t leave Cali alone, and she won’t leave my side. I don’t mind the cat’s company, but I can’t stand Luffy’s sporadic moving. I think I might kill him before you get home, so hurry up and come back._

_Love,_

_Sanji_

_Dear Zoro,_

_I love you. Come home?_

_Love,_

_Sanji_

_Dear Zoro,_

_Nami, Robin, and I got facials today. It was so relaxing and wonderful to be carefree for two hours with my lovely ladies! There was this new avocado cream that was just so amazing. It looked just like your hair color.  I want to make you get a facial just so that you’ll be an actual marimo-head. Come home soon._

_Love,_

_Sanji_

_P.S. I moved your weights—ungodly things—into the living room. They were taking up too much space in the family room._

_Dear Zoro,_

_Cali brought me a dead mouse from somewhere in the house today. It was disgusting—adorable intentions, but disgusting—and it made me think of what it must be like out in the field. How petrifying it must be to be in the midst of battle. How horrifying and scarring it must be to witness one of your men be shot down and killed or wounded. I don’t know how you do it. I admire you for it, stupid soldier. Come back home so I can tell it to your face._

_Love,_

_Sanji_

_Dear Zoro,_

_Merry Christmas! Chopper’s birthday bash last night had everyone sleeping over. We didn’t put the star on the tree this year. That’s your job. Anyway, I’ve never seen so many medical books as presents as I have this year. I got you some high quality sake. Plus, with all the recipe books and new cooking equipment I got, I could probably design a whole new line of snacks to go with sake. Does that sound good? Miss you._

_Love,_

_Sanji_

_Dear Zoro,_

_This New Year’s we didn’t have a party. Luffy was out visiting Sabo, and everyone else went to celebrate by themselves. I was too tired. I didn’t stay up to see the count down because you wouldn’t be here to say “I’ll be in your care again this year.” I don’t even know if you’ll come home this year. I still hope you will._

_With all my love,_

_Sanji_

_Dear Zoro,_

_I fucking hate winter. I fucking hate it. It’s cold, the days are short, and I slipped on an ice patch out in the driveway when I was heading out to Chopper’s graduation. Fuck the weather. Anyway, yeah. The little dude graduated from the top med school in the FUCKING COUNTRY at—what was it again?—eighteen? Holy shit, marimo. You should’ve seen the ceremony. Everything was beautiful, and Chopper was just so adorable. He almost tripped over his robe. AND THEN THE AFTERPARTY. Oh my god, dipshit. You wouldn’t believe the amount of alcohol that was consumed and the amazing food! It was brilliant! I wish you were here._

_With all my love,_

_Sanji_

_Dear Zoro,_

_Happy Valentine’s Day, shithead. Another year you didn’t buy me chocolates. Tsk, tsk. Maybe I’ll have to drop your ass and get myself a true romantic. Although, you do usually make up for it in the bedroom… ANYWAY, getting my head out of the gutter, I made the richest dark chocolate possible, and you wouldn’t have believed how amazing it went with your favorite brand of sake. My god, I think I have outdone myself this time. Also, I love your stupidly directionally challenged ass. I’m blowing a kiss to where-the-fuck-ever you are. Don’t roll your eyes at me, shithead._

_With all my love,_

_Sanji_

_Dear Zoro,_

_The weather is finally starting to change. It’s late March after all. When you come home let’s go on a picnic. We’ll go out to the old willow tree by the pond and eat these awesome Paninis I’ve created. I’ll make an apple pie and some fresh tomato salad. Oh, it’ll be scrumptious. Maybe I’ll bring some bread crumbs to feed the ducks. But if I do, then won’t they consider normal stale bread disgusting? I’ll taint birds’ palates with my amazing food! Hey, what’s with that snort? You wanna fight? Come home while the weather’s nice._

_With all my love,_

_Sanji_

_Dear Zoro,_

_Ms. Wednesday on BARONEWS said that the government has been having peace talks recently. Apparently, the war is going to come to an end in about six weeks! Can you believe it? Hey, once the war is won, will you come back from your MIA period? I mean it’s been almost a year, and most people would have considered you dead already, but I just know you’re still out there. If you’d have died, there would’ve been a disturbance in the Stupidity Force or something. I hope to see you soon, so I can kick your ass._

_With all my love,_

_Sanji_

_Dear Zoro,_

_It’s really irritating that the day you went missing last year is the day this stupid war comes to a close. Hopefully, you’ll be back home in a couple of days. All soldiers are being recalled within the next two months. The POWs, which you might be one of, should arrive home throughout the next year. Maybe you’ll come home tomorrow with the first batch of returnees? With your luck, you got on the wrong damn plane and went to the wrong damn country. I hope not._

_With all my love,_

_Sanji._

_Dear Zoro,_

_You still haven’t come home. I miss you._

_With all my love,_

_Sanji_

_Dear Zoro,_

_I miss you._

_With all my love,_

_Sanji_

_Dear Zoro,_

_I want to go dancing. I miss you._

_With all my love,_

_Sanji_

_Dear Zoro,_

_I want to go see a movie with you. I miss you._

_With all my love,_

_Sanji_

_Dear Zoro,_

_I want to cook for you. I miss you._

_With all my love,_

_Sanji_

_Dear Zoro,_

_I want to see all of your new scars. I miss you._

_With all my love,_

_Sanji_

_Dear Zoro,_

_I want to hear your voice. I miss you._

_With all my love,_

_Sanji_

_Dear Zoro,_

_I miss you._

_With all my love,_

_Sanji_

_Dear Zoro,_

_I love you._

_With all my heart,_

_Sanji_

_Dear Zoro,_

_It’s been six months since the end of the war, and you still aren’t home. I love you. Please be safe._

_With all my heart,_

_Sanji_

_Dear Zoro,_

_I wanted to see you so badly for the past twenty one months, twelve days, nine hours, and thirty six minutes. I guess we were just unlucky because even when you do come home, I don’t think I’ll be here anymore. Remember when I was complaining about my legs hurting? Turns out it was a rare muscle disorder that’s caused by a mutation in the Y chromosome. I’ve given Cali over to the Nami because I’m going to be bedridden. God, I sound so pitiful. But I know you won’t pity me, soldier boy. You’ve seen so much death that this is nothing. Hurry home._

_With all my heart,_

_Sanji_

_Zoro,_

_Sorry for the sloppy handwriting. It’s kinda hard to hold a pen. Every day things get more painful, especially without you here. I’m scared, Zoro. I think this is the first time I’ve been so utterly afraid of the future. I miss you, but I’m glad you can’t see me right now. It’s pretty bad._

_With all my heart,_

_Sanji_

_Dear Zoro,_

_Remember when I kissed you goodbye at the airport when you were heading out? I wish I had been able to savor that moment more. If I had known that would’ve been our last kiss, I probably would have kept you longer than I should have. I love you, shitty swordsman. I hope that you remember that._

_With all my heart,_

_Sanji_

_Dear Zoro,_

_I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye. I’ll always love you._

_With all my heart and soul,_

_Sanji_

_P.S. I still believe you’re alive._

_Dear Sanji,_

_I visited your grave today. I don’t really know what to say. This all seems like a bad dream that I’ll wake up from and find you beside me. I know it’s reality, but I can’t seem to understand how I missed you by only a month. I wanted to see you so badly. I wanted kiss you and hold you and laugh. I wanted to come home and find you standing in the door. But now you’re not. The house is still cluttered with all of our things, and we filled it to the brim with our memories and sins. But now it just feels empty and cold, a reminder that you are gone. I wanted to taste your food again. But now I won’t be able to ever again. I read every single one of your letters. The short ones, the long ones, the funny ones, and the sad ones. I read every single letter on every single page. I can’t believe how much you wrote to me. I can’t believe how much I missed. But the time that you suffered alone in our house, with our things, and with our memories is something I’ll always regret creating because I should’ve been there. I should’ve been your support. So now I’ll have the rest of my life to suffer alone in our house, with our things, and with our memories. I’ll always, always, love you too, cook._

_With all my heart and soul,_

_Zoro_


	14. Flower Power

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyyyy everyone! I have tried to write 6 different prompts in the past moth but I just couldn't work with any of them. SO this is my contribution to Zosan month! Woot!! I have to say I absolutely love DCS and all her works both in art and writing, so a happy late birthday from me! Got this prompt from here: http://onetruepairingideas.tumblr.com/post/145937634716/flower-shop-au
> 
> I altered it a bit, but I still am going to give credit to these people for my last minute inspiration! Thanks and enjoy!

Robin was tending to the many different flowers that littered her shop. She hummed a slight tune under her breath as she walked around the flower shop with a large green watering can. Watering her precious flowers was calming after a busy day like today. She had to arrange more specialty orders than normal, and her regular customers had asked for more flowers than usual.

Robin smiled as she returned to her desk and watered the beautiful blooming purple and white hydrangeas that Franky had helped her breed. As she set down the watering can, her glass door swung open with enough force to rattle the little bell hanging above it so much it almost came loose. Robin looked up with a small smile.

“Hello, Zoro-san,” Robin said. She laced her fingers together on the counter. “How may I be of service?”

Zoro heaved a breath through his nose. His hair was more disheveled than normal, the slight sheen of sweat on his hairline showed his hurry, and the slight pink tint to his skin would have been endearing had the scowl and bulging veins not associated it with rage. Zoro marched over to the desk. He scrunched his nose for a second as if he was reconsidering his intent before schooling his features back into the angry mask. He slammed his palm down on the counter. Robin didn’t flinch and only smiled more. Something had the swordsman worked up if he was coming to her with such blatant emotion. She glanced down at the counter and saw the corners of bills peeking through Zoro’s scarred fingers.

“How do I passive-aggressively say ‘Fuck you’ with flowers?” Zoro said. Robin couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped her lips.

“Of course, Zoro-san,” Robin said. “I have the perfect arrangement in mind.”

* * *

 

Robin had never loved her occupation more than when she was arranging the striking bouquet for Zoro. He’d dubbed it the “Fuck You Shit Cook” bouquet, and she had not argued. Although, for those special few who wanted to insult their bosses in an almost imperceptible way, she would have to create a different name for it. Oh, what fun!

Robin was a very educated woman. Her extensive knowledge of the nuances of flower symbolism made her job particularly enjoyable. It was like a code, a long forgotten language that only a select few could decipher. Every bouquet was not only a work of art, but a message as well.

Robin had picked the very best geraniums, foxglove, meadowsweet, yellow carnations, and orange lilies to arrange for Zoro. It was strikingly beautiful and insulting. Yet, Robin paused in her work.

She knew of the pair’s “oh-so-very-secret” relationship status. The jibes and slights the two flung at each other were cute until it blew up in their faces. Sometimes it was blown over with rough make-up sex that left either one with an aching back for a couple days, but on other occasions, their fights had droned on so long both parties were equally hurt by the end. Robin sensed that it would be the latter if she didn’t soften the blow just a tad. Zoro might not get killed if she hid some other flowers in the mix.

Robin quickly made another trip around the store and picked a few more lovely flowers to include. She tucked them in the bouquet around the other flowers of similar color. Zoro wouldn’t notice, but surely Sanji would. He was a romantic.

“So, Zoro-san,” Robin started as she placed the fresh bouquet in Zoro’s waiting hands, “what has Sanji-san done to deserve this?” Zoro growled.

“He keeps making sweets and treats because of Nami’s birthday and forces me to try them. So I said I hated all of them because they were too sweet, and he just blew up,” Zoro said. Robin bit the inside of her lip to contain the sly smile. Could Zoro have been jealous?  It seemed plausible. “So I went over earlier today, and he’s acting all innocent and happy. And ya know what he does? He pulls out a pie with a perfectly baked crust that says ‘Fuck you,’ and he made me eat the whole thing while he sat there looking smug as fuck.”

“Was it good?” Robin inquired. Zoro was fuming again, lost in his own world.

“Damn good,” Zoro said as he turned and waved over his shoulder, completely oblivious to his confession. Robin chuckled quietly as Zoro yanked her door open and walked away in the completely wrong direction. She had started trimming the thorns of her roses when she spied the bobbing green head walk by her windows about five minutes later. Ah, she’d hopefully hear all about the exchange at Nami’s birthday party.

* * *

 

The next time Robin saw Zoro, she received one of the most scathing “I-know-what-you-did” looks she’d gotten from the swordsman in quite some time. She chuckled when she saw the glare falter when Sanji clasped Zoro’s hand and smile brightly at a joke Usopp was telling. She would have to corner the cook after he’d had a few drinks. Robin sipped her wine to hide the devious smile that threatened to break her sleek composure.

The story itself was not as entertaining as Robin had hoped. Sanji let slip details about the fight over the bouquet when Zoro walked into his apartment. Nothing out of the ordinary for those two there. However, when Sanji was setting the flowers in a vase, he spied the roses Robin had slipped in: orange, pink, and a single red rose buried in the middle of all the other flowers. Sanji’s cheeks had flushed during his description of his excitement at finding the hidden flowers. Robin smiled calmly when Sanji trailed off in an awkward cough and bright flush.

By the time most of the gang had passed out from exhaustion, Zoro had ushered Sanji to the couch and had wrapped them up in a blanket. Robin smiled tiredly as she plucked a small white rose from Nami’s birthday bouquet and tucked it behind Zoro’s ear. He shrugged in his sleep and tugged Sanji closer. Sanji sighed contently, and robins ran her fingers softly over hit shoulder.

“You’ll want to remember the language of flowers when the time comes, Zoro-san,” Robin whispered before walking quietly over to Franky and settling in to sleep.


	15. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this prompt has to do with the month of Sanji prompts that are going to be for July. I'm gonna try to participate, but I'll be gone for a bit so I dunno how long its gonna take me to do. So the next couple of chapters are going to be more centered around Snooj but there'll definitely be some Zosan and other stuff thrown in! Anyway, hope y'all enjoy!
> 
> Comments are always welcome!

He remembers the families on _The Orbit_. He remembers peeking through the portholes on his tip-toes as giggling children sprinted around the deck. He remembers the jealousy he felt before returning to his kitchen duties. He wasn’t allowed to have a normal childhood, not with a family like his.

Sanji would sit out on the deck as he took a snack break, munching on an apple or a loaf of bread. Girls dressed in puffy pink and purple dresses would trot around with their parents’ hands clasped in their grips. He would hear their laughter and scowl. Laughter was bad. Laughter meant cruelty and pain in his house. Sanji did not envy the girls who could laugh. The boys were a different story.

Sanji watched with hungry, jealous eyes as the groups of boys ran around the deck with model planes, toy cars, and small sports equipment. Sanji yearned to be able to play with others, but trusting people outside of the family was against the rules. Breaking the rules was bad, very bad. Sanji stayed in the kitchen and let his dreams of All Blue be enough to sustain him.

Sanji had never really considered his blood relatives _family_. He hated them all. Nothing was homely or kind about the place he was forced to spend his childhood. There were no family picnics, fun activities, or pleasant mealtime chats. His house had been cold and dark. His father was cruel and relentless in Sanji’s and his siblings’ training. The mistreatment tainted them. Sanji understood this at a very young age when his brothers started picking on him and harassing him. They never touched a hair on his head. Father wouldn’t have liked that. However, that didn’t mean they hadn’t harmed him. Sanji still carried the scars on his heart.

Zeff was as close to family as Sanji had ever had. He loved the old man to bits, respected him with his entire being, and would die protecting him if his relatives found him again. Zeff was important to Sanji.

Sanji thought of Zeff as his foster father, even if he never said it aloud. Their restaurant was warm and filled with as much light as Sanji could coerce the old man into. Sanji loved his work once he was allowed to start cooking. He would always be eternally grateful for Zeff’s tenacity and teachings and the fact that he saved his life. But the most important lesson Zeff ever taught Sanji was how to cook.

Everything in Sanji’s life so far had been focused solely on the intent to hurt, to kill, and to destroy. Sanji hated it. It made him feel disgusting. Oily guilt coated Sanji’s conscientious. He spent more time scrubbing his hands raw than actually advancing in his training. He thought that he could wash away the dirty feeling. Of course, that never happened. But then Sanji learned about cooking. Cooking wasn’t simply making meals and providing sustenance. No, it was an act of creation. New flavors, colors, textures. Sanji witnessed so many different transformations of food scraps into beautiful dishes that he could hardly wait to finally start making his own creations. It was all so new. All so beautiful. All so, so, so helpful.

Sanji, however, would try to keep his distance from the slowly growing crew of cooks. He felt awkward and dirty in their presence. He was supposed to be back in his hell of a house being trained to do unthinkable things, not cooking. So Sanji stayed unattached by arguing and fighting and insulting. He worked hard to become a good cook, a _really_ good cook. Sanji only relented in his assholery when a woman was involved. In all of his horrible memories of his time with his relatives, Sanji only had one or two of his mother before she passed away. She had been kind in his memories, and Sanji turned this small inkling of momentary kindness into a plea at every woman’s feet. It opened Sanji up to new wounds and new pains, but he would not relent.

When he had met Luffy, Sanji could hear alarm bells going off in his head. He should not get too close to this boy, but his worries were buried under the thrill of discussing All Blue and his dreams that had carried him through a bleak childhood. Ignoring his sense of danger was Sanji’s fatal move. He was swept up in the whirlwind of bravery and laughter and pride. It was the confusing momentum that carried Sanji away from his almost home, away from the chefs that still loved his snarky ass, and away from the only man Sanji felt a boiling mix of love, admiration, and guilt towards. As he watched the floating restaurant slowly shrink upon the horizon, Sanji was surprised at the feeling of gratitude that filled his chest as he realized he was no longer a burden on those men. Even if in reality, the reality that Sanji refused to face, he was loved—just a bit—by those men.

Sanji’s attempts at staying apart from the small crew were, in hindsight, always pointless. Luffy was just too ebullient to ignore. The bugger was always laughing and slapping Sanji’s back. His grin was contagious. Usopp was, well, cowardly at first glance. He was a hard worker and a hilarious dork. Sanji was caught off guard on numerous occasions as he exited the galley. Usopp would be screeching or dancing or goofing off, and Sanji would just laugh. His usual control would break, and as Sanji calmed himself, he would catch Usopp’s accomplished grin from the corner of his eye before the sniper would rush off again.

The girls were a saving grace in Sanji’s eyes. Even if his heart hurt time and time again when Nami abused his kindness and willingness to go to the ends of the earth to make her happy. She still cared, and he couldn’t blame her for her straightforward monetary values after encountering Arlong. It was when Nami was most vulnerable and simply trusted him to protect her that Sanji felt his heart swell. He knew he would never be able to distance himself from her. Robin, however, was a different case altogether. She was aloof and secretive, but graceful and curious. She was much like himself, Sanji thought. He felt a chilling similarity when they shared a quiet moment of eye contact every now and then. In her large wide eyes, Sanji saw reflections of emotions he knew all too well. They were calculating and worrisome. He stayed in his boundaries, but still treated her as a woman should be treated.

Chopper was naïve and young and too pure for Sanji’s world. In Chopper’s wonder and happiness, Sanji saw a childhood he never had. The reindeer was so innocent and adorable one minute and decisive and skilled the next that Sanji admired his inexperience. It was unsettling though, to know that Chopper was mature enough and had seen enough to be able to patch bullet wounds and broken ribs and lacerations without batting an eye. Sanji did, however, curse the reindeer’s big watery eyes that conned sweets out of him more times than he’d like to admit.

By the time Franky and Brook had joined the crew, Sanji had noticed his attempt to refrain from becoming attached was failing miserably. The addition of the two without much protest only served as another red flag. Sanji stuttered one evening as he prepared dinner for the crew. He had been humming along to Brook’s music and chuckling at the squawks and boisterous laughter filtering through the open portholes into the galley. Sanji had realized he felt comfortable in his own skin for what seemed like the first time. It felt like he was whole and happy and the greasy guilt that coated him so fully before was slowly wearing away. It felt wonderful, amazing, brilliant.

But it was Zoro that Sanji felt threatened his carefully built world of not-so-solitude the most. The swordsman was abrasive. He called Sanji on his shit, and Sanji called him on his. It was like dancing around each other, fearing what would happen if they touched. Their brawls were messy ways to cover up feelings and unsaid words. The crude conversations that divulged into petty arguments only served to distract from the main issue of attraction. And Sanji had no problem running away from it. It was only during battles that Sanji and Zoro would be able to connect. Both were focused on protecting their crew, and crushing anyone in their paths. It was in small blips in the constant fighting that Sanji would feel Zoro’s broad back leaking heat into his own. It was a wall of reassurance, of trust, and Sanji fought the urge to melt into it, push back and say all of the things he would never let slip through his shields and barricades.

So, when Sanji had finally, finally after so long, given into the fact that he was falling and falling hard, he’d gone to the crow’s nest. It wasn’t heavier than their normal tension. It wasn’t any different from when he dropped snacks off during Zoro’s training or night watch. The air wasn’t buzzing with anticipation or frozen in time. It was just them, up in their own little place of solitude where the world began and ended with just them. It started out like normal, both skirting around the issue, throwing insults and half-hearted jabs, but then Sanji stopped, and Zoro kept moving, and their movements faltered, and they touched. And the world imploded.

Everything came rushing out in clashes of teeth and tongue and muffled words and shared breaths. Confirmation of their world in heated touches, raking nails, and pulling hair. It was all spinning, spiraling down into the abyss. It was like stepping off a cliff and having no regrets because then they were flying. Walls crumbled and the urgency was pushed away when Sanji felt Zoro wipe tears off his cheeks. He opened his eyes and just looked at the other man. Forehead to forehead, they just stared, transfixed by the emotions pooling in their eyes. Sanji’s dam burst and he gave in, gave into the need to be accepted, to be wanted, to be loved. He was truly happy.

Sanji’s happiness, however, lasted only for a short time. His two years in hell put him in a perpetually bad mood until he found his nakama again. But then, his relatives and the life he’d left behind so many years ago reared their ugly heads, and Sanji had to follow their orders or else his nakama would suffer. Sanji promised himself he would stand tall and be proud as he was reunited with the people that caused him so much pain.

He faltered when he was finally face to face with the man who called himself his father. Memories flashed before his eyes. Dark rooms, knives, skittish animals, eyes filled with fear, and malicious grins played over and over again in his mind’s eye. The smell of blood overwhelmed him. His stomach lurched and his throat clenched as hollow screams and squeals echoed in his ears. His breathing sped up, and he shoved his shaking hands deep into his pockets. He would not show weakness. Not to them. But his father smiled wickedly, and Sanji knew he had failed. He was trapped.

Sanji doesn’t remember much about the wedding or the battle that ensued. He remembers Luffy crashing through a peanut brittle window, mouth stuffed with sweets. He remembers Chopper, Nami-san, and Carrot-chan bursting through the large gingerbread doors with murder written in their eyes. Sanji doesn’t remember who he fought or what he did, but he remembers looking down at his father’s anguished face. He could’ve killed him, then and there, but he didn’t. He wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth the weight of knowing he’d killed him. Severely incapacitating him, however, now that was fair play. He remembers the childish grin slipping off Luffy’s face as he knelt down and grabbed Sanji’s father by his shirt. The cold blank look in his captain’s eyes as he said some simple threat sent shivers down Sanji’s spine. He vaguely remembers being dragged back towards the Sunny before passing out from the toll the ordeal had had on him. He remembers waking up feeling warm and surrounded by his sleeping comrades, covered in bandages and bruises.

It was when the crew was finally reunited again that Sanji finally felt whole again, that he felt at home again. He was cleaning the dishes after a massive celebratory feast when Zoro walked through the door. The swordsman merely grunted out an order for Sanji to dry his hands off and crossed his arms. Sanji looked at him for a moment, deciding whether or not to respond with a snarky retort, but the look in Zoro’s eyes made him wipe his hands on his apron skeptically, eyebrow raised in question. Zoro nodded and grabbed onto Sanji’s hand before turning and marching for the galley door. Sanji cocked his head to the side in confusion as they laced their fingers together.

When they stepped out onto the deck, Sanji stopped in his tracks. The night sky was sparkling with streaks of falling stars, and the ocean was so still it reflected the starry night. Everything around the Sunny was bathed in a dark indigo blue and sprinkled with starlight. The moon was only a sliver in the sky, and Sanji was awestruck. He glanced around the ship, finding his nakama sprawled on blankets and lawn chairs in the grass. It was so peacefully quiet for once. Sanji felt Zoro’s calloused hand tighten around his. He looked over at the swordsman and smiled. He stepped closer to Zoro and rested his head on the swordsman’s shoulder. Zoro’s hand left his only to wrap around his waist and pull him closer. Sanji sighed. He was content. He watched a star streak across the sky.

“Did you make a wish?” Zoro said. His voice was barely a whisper against Sanji’s hair. Sanji grinned.

“No,” he said. He didn’t need to wish on stars. He had all that he needed. He was home, he had his dream, and he had his family. What more could he want?


	16. Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo I know this is late and all, but oh well. Here's my Love prompt for the 32 days of Sanji! Maybe I'll be able to get the next prompt out today too, but who knows. Anyway, hope y'all enjoy!
> 
> Comments are always welcome!

Sanji thought he knew what the concept of love was inside and out. He considered himself an expert on the subject, often grinning to himself as he watched men flounce around women. He gave advice to those who struggled. Flowers for women with highly acute senses of smell or style, a homemade—by Sanji of course—treat for those of kind hearts and simplicity, and possibly perfume or cologne depending on the occasion. Sanji thought he knew it all after seeing so many improvements to relationships after his intervention. Hell, once he found out Robin approved of Franky, Sanji had set his heart and soul into training the cyborg in courtship. Yes, Sanji thought he was love expert.

The romantic, however, struggled with his own affairs. He “fell in love” too easily, too fast, and too shallowly. The light flutter of excitement in his chest when he saw a woman of his fancy was what Sanji considered love. Love was pure, beautiful, wonderful, extraordinary, light, and intoxicating. Love was special. Love was the best feeling in the world. Love was seeing a woman smile and kiss him. Love was unadulterated happiness.

At least, that’s what Sanji thought.

Sometimes there were flashes of it. An unfamiliar sensitivity. Sometimes it was serene and peaceful like watching puffy clouds drift away in a bright blue sky. Like breathing in that first drag of nicotine. Like stirring a boiling stew. Sometimes it was when Sanji felt so relaxed and at home that he forgot himself and was dragged into the moment and woke from it feeling dazed and blurry around the edges.

Sometimes it was overwhelming sparks. Sometimes it was joyful and full of excitement like late night drinking sessions with his crew. Like completing a new recipe. Like sky-walking high above the clouds. Like running on water. Sometimes it was when Sanji witnessed the smiles and sighs of satisfaction when people tried his food, and his heart felt so tightly wound it might burst.

Sometimes it was sharp and stinging. Sometimes it was painted in rage and frustration like when his nakama were attacked. Like fighting with the shitty swordsman. Like failing at a new cooking technique. Like running out of cigarettes. Sometimes it was when Sanji scanned the swordsman’s bandaged form after a fight, and his throat locked up, his teeth clenched, he felt bile burn the back of his tongue as his head throbbed in rage at the sight, and he damned the foe that had injured the man to hell with a vengeance.

Sometimes it was excruciating. Sometimes it was painful and sad like leaving behind a horde of new friends. Like watching the Baratie fade into the horizon. Like witnessing a hopeless situation where none of his nakama stood a chance. Like glowering at the swordsman as he sacrificed himself for Luffy. Like being denied his death by the same shitty swordsman. Like missing his home on the Sunny. Sometimes it was when a particular jab from the marimo struck home and he felt breathless and lost for a minute before he blinked and it turned to rage. Sometimes it was when he could only look on as the same stupid man struggled to breathe in a drug-induced sleep that Sanji worried his lip and smoked a pack in three hours to numb the throbbing worry and burning fear and churning regret.

Sometimes it was surprising. Sometimes it was suddenly sweet and unexpectedly endearing like when Chopper hugged him not out of fear for the first time. Like the ladies’ smiles. Like Luffy’s colossal appetite. Like feeling the swordsman’s scar-scattered hands run up and down his spine. Like watching as the marimo touched and caressed and examined his hands with the utmost care. Like waking up huddled next to him and hearing his even breathing. Sometimes it was when Sanji witnessed an especially wide smile or a shy content glance that he just felt weightless and heavy at the same time because he was so filled with warmth.

Sometimes it was hot. Sometimes it was lustful and sensual like stolen kisses in the galley. Like sharing heated glances with gold-dusted brown eyes. Like feeling the need and desire roll off of the swordsman in waves as they struggled against each other in a different type of battle. Like trailing kisses over scars. Sometimes it was when Sanji blinked through the haziness of ecstasy that he caught the concentrated flushed face of the swordsman and his heart seemed to jump and he felt suddenly warmer and fuller and satisfied.

But Sanji didn’t bother trying to understand these “sometimes.”

Sanji was at the sink washing tomatoes and cucumbers. It was warm and peaceful in the galley, muffled laughter leaking in from outside. Sanji hummed a melody quietly. The only other sound in the galley was the clinking and soft scuffing as Zoro polished his swords. Their new routine had become comfortable and companionable. Rarely in these moments were any words spoken. Sanji’s lips quirked into a small lopsided grin. It was when he dried his hands on a clean towel that Sanji paused in his humming. He picked up the cutting board and brought the large bucket of clean vegetables over to his area. He looked up at the swordsman as his ears picked up the soft song drifting from the man. At some point, Zoro had started humming along with Sanji without realizing it.

Zoro’s face was more relaxed than Sanji usually saw it. He seemed to be in a trance as he focused on cleaning Wado. He was almost done then, Sanji thought. Zoro’s hands were cautious, and Sanji’s eyes slid over the scars that stretched and scrunched as Zoro dabbed the oil onto the katana. Sanji’s gaze wandered to his shoulders, his neck, his earrings, his hair, his nose, his cheekbones, and his lips. This man was raw power, a trained killing machine. Yet, right at that moment, Sanji couldn’t help but think he was innocent and vulnerable.

It hit Sanji then and almost took his breath away. His mind reeled with it. It was in the overwhelming trust that Sanji’s whole being was strung rigid. He could place his hand in Zoro’s grip and the swordsman could crush his bones if he wanted to. He could count on Zoro to have his back in battle. He could confide in him if the need arose. It was powerful and frightening and confusing. Sanji gripped the countertop to stabilize himself.

Zoro sheathed Wado and looked up, brown eyes relaxed and full. Sanji sucked in a breath as their eyes locked. His legs wanted to buckle with the realization of the emotions he found in the usually guarded gaze. And then it clicked. All of those “sometimes” just rolled through his mind and wound tightly around the sense of trust. It was almost too much for Sanji to handle any more. He had to get it out somehow, express this feeling, and convey it properly.

He didn’t know when he had ended up in front of the swordsman or when he had placed his hands on the other man’s jaw. He didn’t recall having the swordsman lace his fingers at the small of Sanji’s back. Sanji didn’t really care. He leaned down and kissed Zoro. It was intimate and nerve-wracking and his lips tingled when he pulled away. It was like all the other times he kissed the swordsman, but it was so much more intense.

“I love you,” he heard himself saying. He saw Zoro’s eyes widen in surprise and flit away for a second.

“Cook, I,” Zoro started sounding strangled and pained, but Sanji silenced him with another kiss that filled him with the swirling “sometimes” all at once.

“I don’t need you to say it right now,” Sanji said with his eyes closed. “I just wanted to say it for you. And myself.”

Zoro hummed and kissed him again, a silent thank you. Sanji felt his heart sting, it was painful and wonderful and frustrating and sweet. So this was love.


End file.
